A Second Chance
by Layla-V
Summary: K/S: An incident during a shore leave gone disastrous leaves Spock with a link he never expected with his captain—a bond he needs but which he suspects Jim never wanted. The consequences of how he deals with that 'belief' change everything for them.
1. Chapter 1

**Notes:**Written for the **help_pakistan** auction. Dedicated to **salmelusine** for winning the K/S fic offer. Sal asked for a 'jealousy' trope and though that is not the main premise of the fic, I tried to work it in. Dunno if it works, hon. But I tried. :)  
**Special Thanks:** to **jouissant** for the awesome beta job on the first 2 parts and also to **awarrington** for her invaluable suggestions re: the plot. I could not have done it without either of you. Please note, because this fic literally ate my brain and got way longer than I had ever expected, I ran out of time and the last 2 parts haven't as yet been betaed. All mistakes are mine.

* * *

**A Second Chance, Part 1 of 4**

There is a curious simplicity in this activity.

He is sitting across from the captain in his quarters, his finger on his rook, ready to pick up the piece in the next step of his current strategy and move it to its position of attack on the second level, when a notion occurs to him for the very first time.

This is the seventy-fifth game of chess he's participated in with the captain in the last seven point three months of their mission. The win-loss ratio is cleanly split 60:40 in his favor, with 8.534 percent of the games going to a draw. Most of the time they just sit quietly as they play. Spock thinks it surprising how easy Kirk appears to find it, though he has long stopped wondering at the surprises his commanding officer continually throws his way. Jim Kirk is a surprising man, extraordinarily competitive—though that is not unexpected in itself—and quite serious when it comes to chess. Spock finds that neither of them feels the need to engage in unnecessary verbal interplay to achieve their objective, which is to play a satisfying game of Tri-D Chess in their free time. Indeed, there is simplicity in this activity.

But this simplicity does not restrict itself to chess, and that is what catches Spock's attention as he is contemplating his next move. As loud and brash as the captain's reputation in general tends to portray him as, when it comes to his interaction with Spock, he can match the inherent Vulcan stillness with a quiet, steely disposition of his own.

It has slipped across to all aspects of their interactions. Sometimes all they need is a look across the table while playing chess, or across the room while dealing with dignitaries at a Federation conference, or across the bridge at a crucial moment during a firefight. He will know what the captain needs by the tilt of his head, the arch of his brow, the press of his lips together. Or the captain will know exactly what Spock is asking for without him having said a word, from across the conference table in the middle of a trade negotiation. This nonverbal interplay has saved their lives five times by his reckoning, and he is gratified that such a connection exists between him and his commander after only a short time serving together. This is unlike his relationship with Nyota, for whom the spoken, tangent, physical word is such an important part of communication between them.

Spock finds himself sliding back in his seat, as he abandons the rook and looks down at the board in puzzlement. It is a curious thought indeed. It is one of its kind and it hits him suddenly, with the weight of a thick gust of air blowing in his face. Why is he coming to this realization now? Or at all? There should be no comparison between his duty to his captain and his relationship with Nyota. These are two different things, the issues inherent in both situations worlds apart. Sometimes, his own thoughts mystify him.

"Your mind is straying."

He looks up to find Kirk's eyes on his face and blinks at the intense expression. The captain is correct. He has let himself get sidetracked by a matter that is irrelevant to their current task, and that has no place outside of his personal life. Spock looks into Kirk's blue eyes a moment and then looks down at the board again, his brows coming together as he considers an answer.

"Stop that, you'll get frown lines," the captain says, his tone casual.

Spock feels one brow arch up as he looks up again. There is a glint of something he cannot yet recognize in Kirk's eyes. "Captain?"

"That little furrow you always get between your eyebrows when you have something on your mind." Jim watches him steadily for a second and then the corners of his lips twitch. "Wouldn't want those perfect Vulcan looks marred by unseemly frown lines."

Spock is positive his eyebrow has elevated high enough to be obscured by his hair, though he sees the sentiment for what it is presently: humor. "I was unaware my propensity to indulge in unplanned ruminations over multiple tasks during our chess games was a cause of such concern for you," he says drily. "My apologies for needlessly alarming you."

Jim grins. "Apology accepted." He leans forward on his seat as he looks at Spock. "Now, what has got you thinking so hard? We're coming about on a three-day shore leave schedule starting in two days time. You should be concentrating on relaxing, not thinking heavy thoughts."

"My thoughts were elsewhere, Captain," he says. "However, I was considering the scheduling issues the Antaren government mentioned in their communiqué regarding our shore leave program. There are fifteen other ships arriving during the _Pi'ank'eh_ Festival being held on the planet. It would be prudent to schedule the shore leave rotation in such a way so as to avoid any possible conflict with the other crews, considering the diversity of the various cultures represented."

"Yes," the captain nods sagely. "Very heavy thoughts indeed." The teasing is plainly visible now. "Well, I'll leave the scheduling in your capable hands, commander. I'm sure you'll do a bang up job of setting up the rotations."

"Indeed."

There is a lull for a moment as Spock attempts to divert the captain's attention by picking up the rook and finally placing in the position he'd determined previously. The captain nods at the move, his right hand coming up to rest under his chin as his thumb taps his lower lip, his eyes intent on the board. After a moment, Spock watches as he moves his bishop to a defensive position. Spock looks down to contemplate his next move, assuming the conversation to be over, when the captain looks back at him. "Well, as long as there isn't anything else bothering you."

He looks at his commander, finding the blue eyes strangely assessing. That previous hint of humor is no longer visible on Kirk's usually expressive face, and Spock wonders what exactly he has let through in their shared silences. His control must be slipping, if his distraction has become apparent to his crewmates. "I am sure, Captain," he says, in a tone that invited no further discussion.

The fact that he does not wish to speak about the situation with Nyota with anyone else is not surprising. He is aware that humans find speaking with a friend comforting. Spock must admit that that is what Jim has become to him, after all these months serving together. Despite their differences and what, to Spock, had initially appeared to be diametrically opposed personality traits, Jim Kirk has proven to be a most valuable commander and a trusted comrade-in-arms. Spock finds he does not even mind the incessant flirting too much, recognizing it for the harmless frivolity it is. A friend is what the captain is and after Nyota, Spock feels the closest to him among the crew. He is someone he could trust with his life, and has on many occasions. However, his Vulcan half resists the urge to open up so completely.

No, he is not ready to talk about this to anyone. Not even James Kirk. It is an issue which can be resolved by his continued perseverance with Nyota and repeated sessions of intense meditation. The matter is too personal to be discussed with any outside party. It is certainly not something he would ever trouble his captain with, or for that matter, anyone else on the crew. His innate sense of privacy demands he keep his personal life to himself.

"All right." The captain nods, his eyes serious for a moment. And then he smirks. "No more frown lines, then. I like my bridge officers to maintain their perfect good looks at all times."

Spock raises his eyebrow once more. "I will endeavor to refrain from doing so, Captain."

"Thank you, Mr. Spock." The corners of the captain's eyes crinkle with amusement before he looks down at the chess board. "It's your turn."

He looks at the board, and unless Kirk divines his strategy, his remaining knight can capture the captain's queen in three moves. After that, either way the captain moves his king, it will be for naught. He makes the first move.

"Damn," the captain curses, noticing the trap.

Spock inclines his head. "Indeed."

Well, that was simple enough. He leans back to watch the board. The game is his, unless the captain can pull another trick out of his repository.

If he does, Spock knows not to be surprised.

* * *

This shore leave is something the crew of Enterprise has been waiting for many long months. If someone had polled the officers for their favorite destinations for taking time off, the most probable locations would have included names like Risa or Kilon III. With a beautiful, tropic climate, or an abundance of exotic, willing, amorous aliens to amuse them, or better yet, somewhere with a great tourist district that caters to visitors from a variety of worlds and cultures.

So when their shore leave time out is finally approved, even if it is only for three short days, and headquarters points them in the direction of beautiful, mysterious Antara, a relatively new member of the Federation, the captain agrees despite having his reservations. He is not still entirely game with the idea of taking shore leave in the middle of a cultural festival taking place on a newly christened Federation planet. But Enterprise is not the only Starfleet vessel sent to the planet for this reason. USS _Potomac_ is also here, supposedly also on short leave, in the midst of what the captain believes is going to be another diplomatic gathering. Still, the place is beautiful, with its rainforests and perfect climate and a wealth of touristy destinations spread across a variety of locations, so it couldn't really be that bad, right?

With the missions they've had recently, the crew could definitely do with a break.

* * *

It is the first day of their stop at Antara and things are going to be just fine.

Jim tells himself nothing bad is going to happen on this shore leave. Absolutely nothing at all. He has decided it is best to keep a positive outlook on their missions and the periods between the missions. This is the first break they've gotten in months and it is too short to squander away in anything less than absolute blissful relaxation. They get into trouble on their missions often enough as it is. This break he wants to spend in a relative state of inebriation. And for that, he needs no trouble to emerge at all.

Now if only his best friend would put down his inoculation kits and tricorder and move his ass out of the damn sickbay.

"Dammit Jim, I have work to wrap up around here," McCoy snarls, waving the scanner in his face.

"It's time for a break, Bones." Jim throws up his arms. "You've got a staff that can deal with everything here. Now you've done your shift and its time to go. You've already wasted three hours of your rotation when you could've been partying with me down on the planet."

McCoy scowls as he picks up a padd and punches something on it. "It's not my fault your stupid crew can't keep themselves out of trouble even on shore leave."

"What?" Jim looks at him disbelievingly as he follows McCoy into his office, where he watches him stack his medkit. "Is this still about Ensign Limato's unfortunate choice of planet-side dining establishments? And what do you mean by my crew? They're your crew too, Doctor. You're the CMO of this ship, after all."

"Don't remind me." McCoy grumbles. "It's a fact I lament every day of my life."

"Oh shut up, you grouch." Jim laughs.

"I'm serious, Jim." McCoy looks exasperated. "The man should know better than to go to an alien restaurant and order an unknown dish which turned out to be non-vegetarian. He's a Mipan. His physiology cannot process meat." He huffs. "I've never seen that color of vomit in my entire fuckin' life."

"Ugh, don't tell me about it." Jim makes a face. "He's all right now, though, isn't he?"

McCoy snorts. "Yes, I sent him to his quarters with orders to rest for the day. He's not allowed to go down on the planet for the next eighteen hours. That should teach him to be careful for next time."

"Good, the emergency is over. No reason for you to be stuck here anymore." He grips McCoy's arm and pulls him out of the sickbay. "Now, it is my duty as your best friend and your captain to make sure you waste no more time in here and come down with me immediately."

"And do what, make nice with the Federation citizens from races as diverse as the Bolians and the Deltans and hope we all play nice?" McCoy huffs, as he supposedly reluctantly let himself be dragged, though Jim knows it is all an act.

"Hey, we all _will_ play nice, don't even think otherwise," Jim chides him. "And they have beaches down there. They have bars down there." They enter the turbolift, and Jim punches in their destination. "And have you seen the fare on display? Man, Antaren females... You have no idea what you're missing, Bones! Heck, even Spock's been down there since morning."

McCoy grumbles. "Yeah, that _really_ tells me of the fare's quality."

Jim stares at him incredulously. "Hey, Spock doesn't need to look for that on shore leave. He has Uhura, remember?"

"Just shows what kind of taste _she_ has," McCoy sneers as the lift stops and they step out. Jim shakes his head. He doesn't know why he even bothers. Bones and Spock obviously get along but they would rather dance on a bed of hot burning coals than admit they like each other.

He sighs and continues. "You're supposed to be having fun. You used to have fun, remember?" They enter the transporter room. "Since when have you become such a party pooper?"

McCoy glares at him. "Since I got stuck babysitting these greens in this fuckin' flying tin can."

Jim chuckles. "Oh, don't let Scotty hear you say that or he'll blow out the power relays in your office. Or pour your hidden stash of bourbon down the drain."

"Fuckin' idiots," McCoy mutters as he stops and watches the transporter pad warily. "Dammit Jim, do we have to use this?"

"Yes, we do." Jim rolls his eyes. "For God's sake, it's fine."

"That's what they said that one time to the losers who got their limbs fused to their innards."

"Right." Jim steps onto the platform and faces the officer manning the controls. "Ensign, you have the beam down coordinates I sent earlier?"

"Yes sir."

Jim looks at his friend pointedly. "Bones."

McCoy grumbles and curses as he gives Jim a dirty look but steps onto the pad. "I hate these things."

Jim ignores him and orders the ensign to hit it.

When they rematerialize on the planet, Jim cannot help but look up at the clear blue sky, at the grand entrance of the Antaren Great Hall in front of them, and at the myriad exotic alien species mingling all around them, and laugh happily.

"Ah yes." He nudges his friend. "See that, Bones. That's the feel of solid ground underneath your feet. That's sunlight on your face." He grins as they walk towards the entrance, the sunlight filtering in through the vaulted glass ceiling of the hall. "And yes, that's the cool, scented, fresh breeze you're feeling on your face instead of the recycled air of a starship—however clean and efficiently reproduced it may be."

McCoy harrumphs as they walk into the hall, passing by several beautiful alien species of varying genders and races sashaying around. "And Bones, remember what I told you about the fare on display?" Jim grins as he soaks up his fill of the sights and the sounds filling up the atmosphere.

"Aw, shut up, Jim," McCoy grumbles but Jim thinks he sounds pleased.

Jim nods happily. "Yeah, I know, it's fabulous." They walk through the parting throng and notice some of their crewmates gathered around a bar. "Hey boys," he greets Sulu and Chekov who are concentrating on what appears to be a gaming console of some kind, the screen blinking back numbers and objects furiously at them. They wave at him as he settles down on a table where his Chief Engineer has lined up about a dozen shot glasses filled with something blue wafting up a purple vapor. "Hey Scotty, I see you've started already."

"Aye, Captain, no time like the present, eh?" Scotty picks up one glass and downs the drink in one swallow. He smacks his lips appreciatively. "Aye, this is some good shit, right 'ere."

"Better than your own stuff?"

"Nae, nothing can beat me own stuff, Captain. But as far as alien beverages are concerned, this ain't bad at all."

"Well, good to know that."

"Captain Kirk!"

Jim turns around to see Lispah'n, the Antaren Governor coming his way. He gets up to greet the old bureaucrat only to be pulled into a detailed discussion about the Festival and the cultural importance of the holiday period and how pleased the Antaren government is to have Starfleet send it's flagship to join the festivities. Jim smiles and nods in all the right places, feeling glad to have read up on the historical significance of the _Pi'ank'eh_ Festival earlier, as his knowledge is tested several times when the Governor mentions specific traditions linked to it.

When he's through with the Governor, he turns around with relief, only to find the Trill ambassador Kolan Phan waiting for him, wishing to discuss the latest diplomatic measures the Federation council has taken with regards to Trill's conflict with the Andorians. After fifteen minutes of this, he's beginning to wonder whether Bones was right after all about them spending all of shore leave playing nice with diplomats when he's finally let go with a pat on his shoulder.

He notices Bones smirk at him knowingly from behind his whiskey shot and chuckles as he sits down and calls the bartender to take his own order. Once he's served, he eyes the pale green alcoholic drink interestedly but has to roll his eyes in exasperation as McCoy takes out his medical tricorder to scan the drink.

"Bones, I was here all by myself this morning, without you," Jim sighs. "And I lived to tell the tale."

"Yeah, well, I'm here right now," McCoy huffs as the tricorder pings. "So let me indulge."

Jim shakes his head. This has started happening every time they leave the ship and he's accompanied by Bones. Before he's allowed to sip or taste anything native, his best friend has to take out his tricorder to scan if it's viable for the Jim Kirk Consumption. He knows Bones is being overly protective but if he is honest, he cannot truly blame him for acting this way. With the number of times he's been incapacitated as a result of ingesting some alien beverage or food item that did not agree with his system, and the incessant McCoy Grade grumbling and admonishment he had to endure in the aftermath, he really cannot be too careful. It's all worth it, though, he decides, as he samples the alien drink. Hmm. Scotty was right. This is good shit.

The crowd around him is loud and boisterous, and Jim is glad they've gotten this break before their next mission. Two days ago, he may have been teasing his First Officer about taking excessive precautions with the shore leave schedules of the crew, but seeing the many different alien species interacting around him, he cannot help but be glad he has Spock to take care of these details. He can be absolutely sure his perfectionist XO has taken the utmost precautions in setting up the rotations. Nothing gets past Spock.

He's calling for another shot when he catches a glimpse from the corner of his eye of the man in question walking in with Uhura.

Uhura is dressed casually in off-duty clothes, her dark green dress long and clingy in all the right places. Spock, on the other hand, has apparently decided his uniform would suffice for this occasion, and as usual is dressed in his science blues. Not that he looks bad in his science blues. He cuts a tall and elegant figure as always, his frame regal and imposing and impressive. With his wide shoulders contrasting with a narrow waist, and her catlike litheness and long legs, they make a striking couple, Jim thinks, as he watches them move further into the hall. Damn, Uhura's one lucky woman to have landed _that_ one.

Huh, Jim blinks at the thought, as he sits back and ponders the possibility of himself going bonkers. He obviously means _Spock_ is a lucky man to have landed Uhura. But yeah, he can admit that Spock too is a very handsome man. Jim has always had an eye for those too. He guesses he just has a thing for the exotic.

Spock and Uhura haven't seen their shipmates gathered around the bar, he realizes, as they step into an alcove and take their seats. They appear to be engaged in a serious discussion, their postures intimate, as they keep their heads close together to speak. Things appear to be fine between them at the moment. Jim doesn't know why but lately he's been getting a strange vibe from Spock. As if something is bothering him. Of course, he knows the half-Vulcan will never tell him if something was, but he still wonders what's going on. He hopes everything is okay with him and Uhura.

Jim picks up his tumbler to take a sip, as he watches Spock put a hand on Uhura's wrist and lean in closer to whisper something in her ear, and suddenly something in the drink tickles the back of his throat and he starts to choke. He puts down the tumbler, slaps his hand on the table as he coughs repeatedly to clear his airway, his eyes watering. He feels McCoy scoot over next to him to slap him on his back.

"Take it easy, kid." The doctor sounds alarmed. "This is only the second drink of the evening."

He blinks to clear his vision, breathing heavily, his eyes lingering on the couple sitting twenty feet away from them, as he watches Uhura lean up to give Spock a kiss on his cheek. He abruptly straightens up and turns to face his friend. "I'm fine," he tells him, feeling strangely queasy. Though he won't admit that to the doctor, or Bones will literally pack him up and send him back to the ship. "Seriously. That drink just went down wrong."

"You sure?" Bones looks into his eyes. "You look a bit flushed." He takes out the tricorder and scowls at it. "I think there's something wrong with this scanner."

"Nothing's wrong with the scanner," Jim laughs. "But I think I'll try another drink next." He stares at the now empty tumbler suspiciously as he calls for another option on the menu. "Everything's fine, trust me." And it is. He has no idea why he suddenly feels like he has a bad case of indigestion, when he hasn't even eaten anything yet, but he'll be damned if he's going to let this weirdness ruin his fun. Everything's fine. And why shouldn't it be? The bartender sidles up with the other drink, and McCoy once again turns the tricorder towards it, making Jim laugh.

The banter continues for a while and he's soon feeling better. He keeps his back to the alcoves, keeps the drinking games going with Scotty and Bones, as Sulu and Chekov enthusiastically cheer aloud every time the gaming console does something to please them. He's on the seventh option on the menu when he notices a tall Antaren female giving him the eye.

"Oh hello," he smiles as the girl comes closer, dressed in a skimpy red dress that reveals all the curves of her well-proportioned body enticingly. Although he hasn't really come down to the planet for this, despite what he may have said to Bones, he suddenly feels like he should not be denied this. If all parties are willing, then why not? It's not like he has any other plans. He feels his heartbeat increase as she puts a manicured hand on his shoulder and smiles.

Yeah. Why not?

* * *

"You have to admit, Commander," The Rigelen Minister is saying to Spock, "the possibility of technological exchange when so many different cultures are represented from so many different worlds is not only tremendous but also inevitable."

"I agree, Minister, that the opportunity to make such an exchange would appear to be quite fortuitous to some." Spock looks at the wizened figure of the bureaucratic head of the Rigelen diplomatic team. "However, I must remind you that the _Pi'ank'eh_ Festival is a cultural celebration of the Antaren people which relates to their peaceful coexistence with their alliance members and thus, this forum does not seem appropriate for business negotiations related to technological exchange. Especially in the light of the lack of proper controls and quarantines present at this juncture that would be required for such an exchange, were it to be considered at any other time."

"Of course, you're right, Commander," Minister Utan inclines his head. "The utmost care must be taken when engaging in such negotiations and my government of course enthusiastically supports all such measures when dealing with outsiders." He appears to consider Spock with an appraising look, as if he did not quite expect such an opposition to his idea. Though what he had expected while engaging a Starfleet officer in discussions about unrestricted technological exchange, which could very well include military hardware, Spock was not sure. "I was merely pointing out the prospects such gatherings present when arranged on such an interplanetary level," the Rigelen smiles and steps back as if ready to take his leave. "In fact, I must go congratulate the Antaren governor for organizing such an event."

Before Spock can get in another word, the Rigelen Minister has turned away from him and is walking quickly in a direction where Spock is quite positive the Antaren governor is not to be found. This is what troubles him about meeting diplomats at these events. Why Starfleet asked them to take their shore leave at Antara while their cultural festival is taking place is still a mystery to him. But the unhindered nature of hundreds of alien species mingling in such a place will never sit easy with him. The statistical probability of something untoward occurring in such a situation is 67.356 percent and Spock does not like those numbers.

Spock turns to look for Nyota, only to find her a distance away, busy in what appears to be a vociferous exchange with the Tellarite Comm Officer from the Freighter _Polkatri_. He watches her for a while, seeing her face animated with happiness and relaxation. There are going to be plenty of opportunities f or her to meet many Xenolinguists at this gathering and Spock will not stand in her way. This is how Nyota relaxes. Spock knows she needs this after the last few weeks they have had. The captain wanted him to relax as well, but he does not know how to relax in a room full of strangers. So many people around and not a single person who can fulfill his needs.

He pauses in mid-step, as a frown appears on his forehead for a second at this thought, before he manages to smooth out any evidence of it being there. He is disappointed at his own audacity. It is not Nyota's fault he is unable to form a connection with her which would satisfy both their needs. And now is not the time for him to indulge in such reflection. He must meditate later and put his thoughts in order so that they do not distract him at inopportune times.

Besides, he must speak with the captain urgently to inform him about his conversation with the Rigelen Minister. He must be made aware of the situation regarding any non-compliance issues that could surface regarding technology exchange without proper quarantine procedures in place, when there are non-Federation members visiting this festival. He is about to reach for his communicator when he notices Dr. McCoy and Mr. Scott standing at a table with a group of aliens. Strange that he missed them when he walked into the hall with Nyota. Lt. Sulu and Ensign Chekov are also nearby standing next to a screen, watching the messages blinking on it. They appear to be quite engrossed in whatever they are witnessing. And that's when he notices the captain, standing in the midst of them all, flanked by the two Antaren females.

Spock studies Kirk for a moment. The issue he needs to discuss with the captain could prove problematic if left unattended. He takes a step forward and then pauses as he watches the captain wrap both his arms around the waists of the two females standing on his sides. The issue is important, but the captain is occupied at the moment. Also, he did wish to spend his shore leave in relaxation. He did not even want to speak of work during their leisure time while playing chess two days ago. However, Spock knows the issue is critical enough to warrant an audience with his commanding officer to appraise him of the situation as soon as possible.

He watches one Antaren female raise a hand to run a finger delicately across the captain's cheek, prompting a smile from the human, and feels his lips press together. He watches the captain say something to the alien woman that makes her laugh heartily and his decision is made. Now is not the time for him to disturb the captain. Just because he does not find the prospect of spending too much time at this event relaxing himself, does not mean he should deny the captain an opportunity to do so either. He can speak to him about the Rigelen governor when he meets the captain on the ship tonight. Or perhaps tomorrow morning at breakfast. He is sure to come across the captain when he is unoccupied and free to discuss his concerns soon enough. Spock turns around from the spectacle and walks determinedly towards the gates that lead out of the Great Hall.

He will find the Antaren authorities instead to inform them of the possibility of security breaches occurring if an impromptu technological exchange was allowed to take place with non-Federation members in the absence of proper protective measures in place. And then he will return to the ship.

Maybe that meditation he had planned for tonight could be availed earlier.

He suddenly feels in need of it.

* * *

Nyota was top of her Xenolinguistics class at the academy.

She can speak forty seven Federation languages fluently and can understand about a dozen more with a more than adequate level of proficiency. In her freshman year at the Kenyan University while studying for her Earth Languages degree, she wrote a thesis on the Application of Pragmatics in Modern Languages which won her a scholarship that led her to Starfleet Academy.

Words are what she lives by. She understands grammar, gets syntax. She can break down sentence structures, pick apart morphemes and phonemes, study dialect and intonation, examine affixes and signifiers. She is good with words. The study of linguistics, whether alien or human, is structured, following a certain order. No matter what the language, or which part of the galaxy it originates from, it will follow a specific set of rules. The same rules apply to every language she has ever studied. It is all about structure. She likes structure, likes the control it gives her.

That is what she always believed she had in common with Spock. He is the effusive, well-cultured Vulcan, with his infamous calm and logic which is the most attractive thing to her about him. Yes, he is beautiful too, not to mention highly intellectual and a supremely intelligent man. But it is his calm and control which pulled her towards him. His ability to maintain his cool in the face of anything. And it was obvious he was equally attracted to her, even if they never acted on that attraction until after the loss of Vulcan. And then finally they started seeing each other when they were both assigned to the Enterprise.

Which is why she finds herself unable to grasp this new side of Spock. He is still the logical one, still the most stable person she knows. And there is no shortage of strange people she comes across in her daily life. But there is an emotional side of Spock, she doesn't get. Nyota knows that her reasoning is far from accurate, though. You could hardly call Spock emotional. At least, that's not how he is on the surface. Aside from that one instance during the Narada incident when he nearly killed Kirk on the bridge, which was entirely prompted by Kirk's own cavalier attempt to incite the emotionally compromised Vulcan into reacting, she has never again seen him lose his calm.

But now, having seen that part of him, she knows what lies underneath that façade of calmness. And she has seen glimpses of more during their brief attempts to form a telepathic connection.

No, she knows Spock is not a violent man. That is not what she is worried about. Far from it, in fact. However, she can no longer deny that Spock has an emotional side. Even for a half-Human. And his Vulcan heritage demands certain biological imperatives that she is not entirely sure she can accommodate him with. She finds herself simply unable to meld with him.

Telepathy touches a very deep part of an individual's psyche. It's basically flaying yourself open in front of someone else. Each thought, each memory, each feeling laid bare to be waded through, and prodded and picked apart and thrown back at you in triplicate. The thought of feeling all those emotions, with no sense of structure, or order, or _syntax_ to fall back on feels alien to her. Far too alien.

Nyota understands syntax, likes the control it provides. She's not sure she likes the idea of letting go of that same control, which she knows is bound to happen in a meld.

She knows she is being unfair to Spock. He is a kind, gentle man. She knows she loves him and she wants to try to be what he needs. But she is not sure she is capable of doing so.

She doesn't want to lose him, but she's not sure she can change herself that much for him. She's not sure she can give up that much of herself to accommodate his needs.

And that makes her feel like shit.

* * *

At night, as he sleeps, the jagged edges of the broken bond bleed in his mind.

It has been this way since the loss of Vulcan eight point seven three months ago.

He is not alone in this. Every other Vulcan alive today has lost a family member or a bondmate to Nero's madness. Every other Vulcan alive today is in pain, is suffering.

However, Spock is the only living hybrid in existence. He does not know if it is his human half that makes the situation more dire than it would be for a full Vulcan, or if everyone else is going through the same thing. Like all remaining Vulcans, especially the very young like him, he went through a number of sessions with a Healer after the Nero incident to assess the integrity of his telepathic shields and to pacify his broken bond until a bondmate can be arranged for him at a later occasion. He was assured by the Healer that while his grief was immense, that it was to be expected in the wake of his tremendous loss, and that his exceptional telepathic abilities were adequate for his continued mental wellbeing. His mental shields were and still are perfectly in place. That is not the issue.

The issue is... that despite all that, there is a loneliness in him that breaches the core of him. A devastating emptiness that aches in a part of his mind that he is unable to reach with his mental hands, unable to close the gaping wound so that it can stop bleeding. It is a wound that calls for a bondmate to ease its pain. A bondmate that no longer exists. A bondmate he lost with billions of others on that fateful day. The ever calm and logical T'Pring, the beautiful one, who was promised to him at age seven. T'Pring, his betrothed, who would have soothed his aches and eased his discomforts. T'Pring who died with Vulcan – a victim of a madman's psychosis.

And now he is alone, aching, hurting, bleeding inside. Unable to form a bond with the woman who is willing to be with him, to love him and to take care of his needs. Because of whatever flaw that exists in his hybrid nature, he cannot get through to Nyota. What he needs would normally only be matched with another telepathic companion, but the bond his father shared with his human mother proves that it is not an absolute. He wants to be with Nyota. He has tremendous fondness for her and he knows she feels the same way. They are intellectually well-matched. They can talk on topics of common interests for hours without getting tired. Spock knows she could be the one. But for some reason, it is not working. He has tried melding with Nyota on three different occasions and has failed each time. For some reason, every time he tries to form the barest connection, her mind recedes. He does not know why.

Physically, he finds their unions to be satisfying. Nyota is beautiful and soft and eager to please, a considerate lover. However, sometimes Spock wishes he was blunt enough to tell her that it is not enough. Because it is not. And over time, it has gotten harder and harder to focus on his control with the broken bond always there, hurting. He needs a telepathic connection, if his needs are to be sufficiently met. He needs a mind that understands him on a deeper level. Perhaps he is being selfish by needing more than she can give. He knows it is not her fault. He is the one to blame. He is the experiment that went wrong at some point and now he is driving away the woman he cares for because he needs too much. He feels too much. He knows he is being illogical, being un-Vulcan but he does not know what to do.

So while his shields are in place during the day, as he goes about taking care of his duties and his tasks, as he's talking to people and resolving the day to day issues that arise during the normal routine of a First Officer's life, at night when he lays down to sleep, he can feel the jagged edges of the broken bond throb.

He can feel them bleed.

And he hurts.

* * *

Jim steps out of the shower and grabs a towel from the rack, wrapping it around his waist. Although he spent the night planet-side, he felt an unprecedented eagerness to return to the ship as soon as he woke up.

Shelma and Quelma, the Antaren twins, were a great distraction. However, as eager as he was to bed them last night, this morning, a strange, dull moodiness had befallen him. As if being with them was the last thing he wanted. Which was strange considering they were both exotically beautiful and he usually had no qualms about getting it on with exotic beautiful women—the stranger the better. Nonetheless, he could not get away from them fast enough. He was polite and charming as he made his excuses, of course, but when they offered him a morning round, he really had to decline. And he absolutely had to say no to breakfast in the Sikaren restaurant which supposedly specialized in cuisine from across the quadrant. They looked genuinely disappointed but he would not be deterred.

He's had a good night's sleep, so he's refreshed. The sex was satisfactory too which really says a lot about his mental disposition that he was calling a hot acrobatic threesome _satisfactory_—but yeah, he really wanted to come back to his quarters to freshen up. He's also starving now but he wants to log in a few miles at the gym before he heads out to the commissary.

He dresses quickly in his gym shorts, shoes and plain white t-shirt, grabs the gym bag with the change of clothes and heads out. He's caught up in his thoughts, his mind going a mile a minute, planning the rest of his day between ship-based chores and planet-side hours as he walks through the gym doors, only to stop short at the sight in front of him.

Spock and Sulu are fencing. A small crowd of crewmen has gathered around them to watch as they are wont to whenever either of his bridge mates are engaged in one of their combat training drills.

Jim climbs a runner and switches it on and, as he begins to jog, keeps his eyes on the match. Sulu, he knows, is an expert fencer. A surprisingly aggressive fighter, he employs a unique combative style that Jim sometimes laughingly refers to as mutt fencing, due to his propensity to add in different techniques from a number of marshal arts forms in his fighting program. But that's where the funny stuff ends and Jim knows it. Having had a go at Sulu in friendly practice a number of times, Jim personally knows the fencing is no laughing matter to him. He's quick and agile and forceful in his drills, attempting to take charge of the fights from the start.

However, it is the half-Vulcan that Jim finds himself watching more closely lately. Spock, with his tall, lean, deceivingly strong build—with a balance and swiftness that is almost languid in its elegance. With a feline grace, Jim watches Spock fence with the helmsman, his eyes following the Vulcan's every move, as Spock moves forward and sideways and back on his nimble feet, his every muscle taut with the readiness to pounce. Spock is all sharp angles and hard muscular tension. He often finds himself watching Spock in movement, watching Spock's hands in motion, with their gentle, strong, long fingers, and those perfectly manicured nails. The hands he knows the strength of from personal experience. He has felt them wrapped around his throat in less than ideal circumstances after all. Damn, he now knows never to piss the half-Vulcan off again. He also knows that the past few months have helped him cultivate a friendship and loyalty with his First Officer that will ensure Spock will always watch his back in a fight, and that would be a fight they would always win.

Spock usually plays a defensive game and with Sulu's usual aggressive stance, they make perfect sparring partners. But today, Spock appears to be employing a more offensive strategy. Jim watches as Spock tackles Sulu three times, prodding first his chest, then his midsection, then his groin, one after the other, as Sulu attempts to foil his moves by stepping aside and then quickly moving forward in an attempt to throw Spock off. But either Sulu is still a little hung-over from last night or there really is no stopping Spock in his current disposition. He wonders what is up with Spock this morning.

Jim watches as the computer beeps the warning signal, as Spock comes forward to attack fast and furiously over and over. Sulu steps forward, his foil thrust at Spock's prime, but Spock successfully blocks him and jabs at Sulu's with a quick movement of wrist and elbow, once, twice thrice. And suddenly Sulu staggers back, almost falling as he puts out a hand in defeat, his chest heaving, and Jim hears the computer beep the signal to stop the fight. Spock stops abruptly, straightening up, as Sulu drops his foil on the floor.

"Oh hey, hello!" Sulu heaves in a staggering breath as he looks up at the First Officer from his position where he is bent at the waist, his hands on his knees. "What's up, Spock? You feeling okay today?"

Jim feels himself frown as Spock takes long, deep breaths to calm himself as he stares at the helmsman for a few long moments. After a moment, the half-Vulcan visibly sighs. "I apologize. I will attempt to play a more defensive game in the future. If you wish to terminate today's session..."

"Hey, no." Sulu picks up the foil and straightens up. "I like it. I was just not expecting this after the night we had. My head is still kind of buzzing from all that Antaren brandy we had. The sparring should actually clear it up real nicely." He looked at Spock warily. "Just warn a guy next time you're in the mood for an out and about aggressive combat set, okay, Commander?"

"Affirmative." Spock inclines his head and they begin again, this time going back to their usual aggressive/defensive styles.

Jim watches them for a while longer, waiting for any sign that things are not back to normal. But the drill is uneventful after that, and Jim increases the speed on his runner as he concentrates on finishing up his exercise. After a while, he watches both Sulu and Spock finish up and leave, with a wave from Sulu and a tilt of head from Spock thrown his way in acknowledgement.

After he's done, he washes up in the showers and changes. By the time he's out of the gym, he's absolutely famished, and is almost jogging into the commissary, determined to feed himself with something hearty and filling. He grabs a food tray and fills it with a large muffin, a thermos of coffee and two servings of eggs and bacon, finds an empty table and settles down.

He's only just dug in when he hears someone approach him.

"Captain."

He looks up to find his First Officer standing in front of him, now dressed in his uniform, with a tray of his own in his hands. Jim smiles widely. "Mr. Spock, join me?"

Spock nods as he takes the seat from across him and sets his tray down. "Thank you."

Jim watches Spock begin to eat a bowl of cereal with a variety of fruits and milk added, and a mug of tea and goes back to his own food. They eat in silence together for a while and then Jim looks up at him.

"That was an impressive session with Sulu," he says conversationally. "You've really improved greatly since I last I saw you two fence. Not that you were ever bad at any combat sports to begin with," he smiles. "But yeah, that was pretty aggressive."

Spock gazes at him, a strange look in his eyes. "It would appear to have been too aggressive" He sounds almost contrite.

Jim once again wonders what could be bothering his First Officer. He hopes everything is all right between him and Uhura. Then he remembers last night and how they looked more than fine together and feels his jaw tighten. He feels a frown forming on his forehead and shakes his head, instead chuckling to lighten the mood. "Yeah well, Sulu did have a little too much to drink last night." He smiles at Spock. "Don't worry about it. He loves a challenge and is a pretty good study. As are you, in fact."

Spock nods. "Mr. Sulu has taken time out of his schedule to assist me with regular lessons. As he employs the skill sets from various different classes of combat training, I find his technique to be most efficacious in assembling a very potent martial arts program."

Jim pours himself some coffee. "I'm sure you have taught him a few things too. He's making some moves I hadn't seen from him before."

"As would any skilled fencer." Spock inclines his head. He puts down his spoon and picks up his tea. He sips delicately from the cup for a few moments and looks at Jim almost expectantly.

Jim stares at him. "Was there something on your mind, Commander?"

Spock puts down his teacup and takes a deep breath. "Yes, Captain. I wished to inform you of a conversation I had with the Rigelen Minister last evening that had me somewhat discomfited."

Jim looks at him curiously. "What happened?"

Spock gives him the account of his whole conversation with Minister Utan, and the subsequent discussion he had with the Antaren authorities and Jim is glad he had already finished most of his breakfast, because he suddenly loses his appetite.

"This is not good." He grits his teeth. "In fact, this totally sucks. This is what I was telling Pike about when he thrust this festival on us in the guise of a so-called shore leave. The potential for contamination when it comes to unsupervised technological exchanges, especially if it concerns weapons, with non-Federation members is fucking huge. But the Starfleet bureaucracy simply doesn't listen to us, do they?"

Spock inclines his head. "You will however need to inform them of this development."

"Oh I will," Jim nods. "As soon as I get out of here." Something suddenly occurs to him. He looks at Spock. "But I was wondering something."

Spock looks at him. "Yes, Captain?"

"You had this conversation with the Minister when, last evening?"

Spock leans back a fraction. "Affirmative."

Jim stares at his face. "Why didn't you tell me this right then?"

Spock looks suddenly uncomfortable. "I... meant to," he begins, looks down at the table and then back up at his face, "but... I realized you were otherwise occupied." His face becomes impassive. "I did not wish to disturb you in your free time."

Which is the strangest fucking thing he's ever heard come out of Spock's mouth. His First Officer has never been known to beat around the bush. Or to hesitate to come and see him if there is a problem. "Spock, this is more important than my free time." Jim knows he sounds incredulous. "You know that. You should have told me immediately."

Spock presses his lips together. "You are of course correct, Captain." He straightens up in his seat. "I apologize for my misjudgment in handling the issue. It will not happen again."

It really must not. Ship's business comes first. It really, truly does. "See that it doesn't, Commander," Jim says firmly. He stares at his First Officer, who still looks uncomfortable for some reason. What the hell is going on with Spock? He can't imagine why Spock would hesitate to approach him just because he was with a bunch of women at a bar. Or would he? Jim can feel the slight tension in the air, so he softens his tone as he nods at his First Officer. "Want to join me for my vid conference with Admiral Pike as we inform him of this situation?"

Spock looks into his eyes, something unreadable lurking there. He slowly inclines his head. "Of course, Captain."

* * *

"But how could such a contraption even work?"

Ensign Beemer is sitting with his elbows on the table in the rec room, his chin propped up on his folded hands, as he looks between Chekov and Engineer Scott for illumination.

But it is Sulu who leans forward to answer. "Well technically speaking, telepathy is like finding the right frequency on your old fashioned radio, right?" he says. "So if you can somehow figure out a way to do that telepathically, it's just like listening to your favorite jazz station, or if you go a little further, just like broadcasting your own signal if you have a booster attached."

Engineer Scott speaks up: "So, what ye are saying is... if there were to be a device... which could generate a frequency that matched the psionic signals of a psi-null species..."

"This is, of course, considering psi-null species even have psionic signals," Sulu interrupts.

"They do, of course." Chekov nods enthusiastically. "Ask any telepath." And just as he says it, he looks up to see Mr. Spock walk into the room with Dr. McCoy in tow. They appear to be having a heated discussion about shore leave schedules and someone or other getting sick on the planet. As Chekov looks closely, he can see that Mr. Spock looks utterly disinclined to continue whatever they are talking about, so he decides to rescue him. "Hey, look, there's Commander Spock. Commander Spock!" He calls out, "Commander!"

Both Mr. Spock and Dr. McCoy approach the table.

"What the devil are you all up to?" The doctor has the usual scowl on his face.

But Mr. Spock ignores the admonition and looks at Chekov. "What is it, Ensign?"

"Commander, do psi-null species have psionic signals?" Chekov looks up at the First Office expectantly.

Sulu snorts as the doctor curses while the commander raises an eyebrow at Chekov. "I beg your pardon."

"What Pavel is trying to ask is..." Sulu chuckles. "...can psi-null species be affected by psychic probing, for example by telepathic aliens or... perhaps through some technological device that is programmed to emit a psychic... field for instance. The answer, of course, is... yes."

"Indeed." The commander inclines his head. "Any species, regardless of their psi-rating, could be affected by the presence of psionic probing, whether by a telepathic alien, or... via a device, were it to exist, that used some method of a psychic interference to detect or influence ones thoughts. However, it would depend on several factors, such as how deep the probing is, and whether or not the telepathic influence is being attempted at a frequency which matches the species' mental wavelength."

Dr. McCoy mutters. "That's the way to get your brain scrambled, by having someone poking around in their thoughts with fucking telepathy!"

"See? That's what Mr. Scott said." Chekov says. "If the psionic signals match the frequency of the mental wavelength."

"No, actually..." Sulu shakes his head. "Scotty said it the other way around."

"Shut your mouth, lad." Mr. Scott scowls at Sulu, and then looks at the commander. "What we're askin' here is... if they generated a field that projected, say, on a wide band of psionic wavelengths, it could possibly tune into the psychic signals of a large number of alien species, can it not?"

"Possibly yes." Spock looks at him and then he looks around the table. "Might I ask, what has prompted this discussion?"

Sulu looks at Spock, then at Chekov, who suddenly feels uncertain at the scrutiny he is receiving from his superior officers, before sighing. "Someone down on the planet just told Pavel about... one of the alien visitors bringing in a... 'Psychic Field Generator'."

There is silence at the table for a moment, as Dr. McCoy curses again and Commander Spock looks at Chekov in what can only be termed as the Vulcan expression for astonishment—even if he only looks slightly more grave than usual. "For technological exchange," he says.

Chekov ducks his head. "Yeah."

"So we were just discussing how such a device could possibly work." Sulu looks rueful. "Of course, it would be illegal, wouldn't it?"

Spock turns to Chekov. "Who was this individual who told you about this device?"

Chekov straightens up, his heartbeat suddenly faster. "He was an Antaren, Commander. I don't know his name."

"When did this discussion take place?"

"Less than an hour ago," Chekov replies, "when I was at the café on the beach."

Spock looks at him. "Would you be able to recognize this person if you saw him again?"

Chekov nods. "Yes, I think so."

The commander takes out his communicator and punches a button. "Spock to the Bridge."

"Uhura here."

"Lieutenant, has the captain returned from his meeting with Minister Utan?"

"Negative."

"Can you contact him?"

"Hold on a second." There is a pause for a few moments before they hear her voice. "He's not responding. He's in the Diplomatic Enclave right now, they turn off all communication devices down there."

Spock turns to the group at the table. "Who accompanied the captain to the surface?"

"Ensign Molaris," Sulu replies. "I was supposed to join him later."

"To what purpose?"

Sulu shrugs. "A tour of their botanical labs, Commander. It is supposed to be shore leave, after all."

Spock stares at him. "Lieutenant, I suggest you beam down immediately, find the captain and inform him of this situation. The botanical labs can come later."

"Yes sir." Sulu hurries out.

"Ensign, I need you on the bridge." Mr. Spock nods to Chekov as they move out of the rec room together.

"Aye Commander."

* * *

"Lieutenant, raise the Antaren governor on priority channel," Spock orders as they walk onto the bridge.

"Aye Commander." Uhura replies as she fiddles with her controls. After a while she looks up. "I can't get through. There is some kind of interference in the..."

Spock interrupts. "Raise Lt. Sulu on the comm."

There is a short pause before she replies, "I've got him."

"Lieutenant, can you find the captain?"

"I am unable to reach him, Commander," comes Sulu's reply over the comm. "There's something going on down here."

Spock feels his brows furrow. "Explain."

"I don't know what it is. But it is definitely something..."

Suddenly the comm signal breaks as they hear a loud crackle of static fill the bridge. Spock turns to Uhura questioningly but she only shakes her head.

And then, Chekov cries out. "Commander, there's been an explosion in the Diplomatic Enclave building."

Spock whirls around to face the viewscreen. "Lt. Sulu, report!"

More static sounds on the channel before comes Sulu's reply, "Commander, I'm attempting to.. there's no... coming back... find help... ahhh." They hear Sulu cry out over the channel and the line goes silent.

Spock attempts again. "Lieutenant, what is going on down there?" But there's no response.

He presses his comm. panel on the chair. "Spock to Sickbay."

"McCoy here."

"Doctor, there's been an explosion down on the planet. Prepare for emergency evacuation and treatment of possible casualties."

"Affirmative."

Spock turns to Uhura. "Lieutenant, get me Ensign Molaris!"

"I can't get through to him. Can't get through to either of them," she replies. "There's no response."

He looks at the Comm. Officer. "Get me someone from the Antaren council on screen."

"I'm trying."

He steps up to the Navigation console. "Ensign, I want status."

Chekov's fingers fly on his controls. "There is a jamming signal in the planet's atmosphere originating from the north-western block of the Diplomatic Enclave, and it is interfering with our sensors."

Uhura calls out, "I have Governor Lispah'n on the screen."

The wizened face of the Antaren Governor appears on the viewscreen. But the picture is unclear, the signal breaking and reappearing haphazardly.

"Governor," Spock addresses the bureaucrat, "What is going on at the Diplomatic Enclave? Our sensors registered an explosion."

The picture distorts, breaks up and then comes back. But as it clears up, everyone on the bridge can see the Antaren Governor is in pain. "It is too loud," the man moans. "There are too many voices. Too many sounds." He sobs. "Oh, you must stop them, Federation. Please, goddess, stop them. Please, you must..."

And with that the signals drops. Spock turns to face Uhura, his face grave, and sees her shake her head.

"Commander," Chekov says, "there is an interference around a three hundred and fifty meters circumference of the Diplomatic Enclave building that is blocking our sensors."

"The Psychic Field Generator." Spock presses his lips together. He calls sickbay once more. "Doctor, when was the last time you spoke with the captain?"

"Two hours ago, just as he was going into his meeting with Minister Utan," McCoy answers. "What the hell is going on?"

But Spock has no time to answer. He turns and moves towards the turbolift. "Bridge to Mr. Scott. Report to Transporter Room 2 immediately."

"Aye Commander."

Spock waves at the Navigation Officer. "Mr. Chekov, you're with me."

They arrive in the transporter room to find not only Mr. Scott but also Dr. McCoy waiting for them.

"Spock, where's Jim?" The doctor asks, his voice agitated.

"He has not been located since the explosion," Spock replies. "We have reason to believe the psionic device has been activated on the planet. Two of our officers who had accompanied the captain are compromised."

The doctor looks at him. "Where the hell do you think you're going?"

Spock turns to face him. "Down on the planet."

The doctor has a scowl on his face. "Spock, that Psychic Field crap, even you as a telepath would be susceptible to its effects."

Spock stares at him. "Understood. However, my first duty is to make sure the captain is safe. As I am the only one on board with telepathic shields in place, I find myself to be the most qualified to make the rescue attempt."

The doctor looks at him gravely. "Then, I'm coming with you."

"Negative." Spock shakes his head. "You will not be able to repel the effects of a psychic field. You must wait here for me to bring the captain back to the ship, so that you can treat him for any possible injuries." He turns to Scott and Chekov. "It is imperative that you not only find the source of this interference and get rid of it, but that you also locate that generator and disable it."

"Aye Sir."

Spock arms himself with a phaser and gets up on the transporter pad. "Mr. Scott, transport me to a point close to the Diplomatic Enclave."

Mr. Scott frowns. "The interference is messing up with my sensors, Commander. I cannot guarantee I can find you a safe spot near that building even outside the circumference of the signal."

Spock stares at him. "Then find me an _unsafe_ spot and beam me down there."

"But Mr. Spock."

"Do it now."

The first thing he notices as he rematerializes on the surface is the chaos.

Everywhere he looks, he sees smoke coming out of damaged buildings, and bodies either strewn haphazardly, or writhing on the ground. Those who do not appear to be injured are stumbling about in a daze, clutching their heads, their fingers shoved into their ears as if they are trying to block out a cacophony of noise. Every face he looks at is contorted in pain, the sounds of painful cries and moans reverberate in the chilled night.

He takes out his tricorder and checks the surroundings. The readings are going haywire, the interference too strong, but he can just make out the circumference of the jamming signal and he is standing right at the edge of it. He can almost feel the thrum of the psychic presence here. It's a palpable, tangible thing, its energy pulsing at the edges of his consciousness, but here, outside the circumference, it is not strong enough to affect him.

As he takes a step forward, he notices Sulu and Molaris sitting a little further away against a wall, looking dazed but mostly undamaged. They apparently had enough foresight to make it out of the signal's range before they collapsed. He moves forward to seize Sulu's shoulder and asks him about the captain's last known location. The helmsman weakly points in the direction of a hallway about two hundred meters into the building. Spock instructs him to contact the ship and liaise with Scott and Chekov to find the generator.

Leaving his two crewmates to fend for themselves, Spock rushes through the entrance, the smoke inside thicker, as he climbs over overturned articles of furniture and even more bodies—some of them merely unconscious though he could not be sure—but has only moved a few dozen paces when it hits him. Thousands of voices whispering, sniggering, hissing in his mind, poking at his thoughts, filling his ears, his senses, his head with their prodding, pricking, puncturing malevolence. The psychic energy throbs around him, beating at his mental shields. He staggers back a step, and closes his eyes as he takes a deep breath to steady himself. He calls upon his Vulcan training, shoring up his defenses and reasserting his mental shields one by one until they are all back in place, until he is once again feeling in control, and then opens his eyes. He takes stock of his situation once more, remembers the direction Sulu had pointed out earlier and moves.

In the second room, he finds the Rigelen Minister on the floor in a pool of magenta blood, a shard of broken window glass sticking out of his chest. Spock doesn't have to check his pulse to know he is dead. He leaves him there. It is as he is crossing the threshold between the third and the fourth room, that he catches a glimpse of gold in the periphery of his vision.

It is the captain, lying on his back stuck under an upturned table. Spock runs to him, reaching down to assess the damage, and notices the shards of the splintered wood that have breached his shoulder—thick red blood seeping out of the wound. But he can see the captain's chest rising and falling and that sends a rush of relief through him.

"Jim," he says gently, reaching out to check his pulse, and the moment his fingers touch the captain's skin, Spock hears a blood curdling scream reverberate through his skull as the captain's body convulses, his face contorting in pain. Spock pulls back with a gasp as if shocked at the touch, his eyes widening at the misery he sees on the human's face. He sees the captains' mouth open in a silent scream as his body thrashes back in the throes of a seizure, a choked sob falling from the slack mouth. _No, no, no, no, no, no,_ he hears crackling against the mental link—its as if the presence of the psychic field has heightened his senses, the tips of his fingers acting as a psychic conduit even though they are no longer touching the human's bare skin.

"Jim," he says again. "Captain!" he urges.

But there is no reply, only an answering shudder as the captain's body writhes in pain, his face a picture of absolute torture. The captain's mind is trapped in the psychic field. Spock must reach him before any more damage is done to his friend. He must rescue both his body and mind.

Determined, Spock reaches out to hold his captain's shoulders firmly. He spares a glance at the tortured features, takes a deep breath, and holds up both his hands over the captain's face above the psi-points. Then with his fingers splayed in the traditional melding position, he makes contact.

He feels the moment the link is formed, because he's suddenly plunging inside the pulsing, throbbing, choking depths of the human's fear-filled mind. _No, no, no, no, no, please no, no, no, no,_ he hears the painful howl and yet pushes his way into the clamoring confusion. Everything is so cold and black and angry inside this place. He can feel the malevolence thick like a cloud of suffocating, burning smoke, can hear the laughing, hissing, sibilating whispers buzzing in his ears. _No, please no, no, no._ He can feel the waves of pain and fear coursing through this mind. This fragile human mind. Lost in a thick black fog, the stench of what smells like burning flesh suddenly stings Spock's nose, and he feels himself gag.

_Jim_, he calls out, breathing heavily as he blinks into the morass. _Jim, you must let me find you._

_No_, he hears, _stay away, stay the fuck away._

_Jim, no, it is I, Spock. Your friend. Captain, let me help you._

_No, no, please._

Here the whispers are louder, their power more potent than ever. And beneath it, Spock can hear a persistent throb. It is a sound he has heard before. The thump of a human heart beating, slowed and slowing still, as the pain engulfs the mental landscape around them. In Jim's mind, in his current physical state, the natural protective shields of his mind are almost nonexistent. He has been weakened tremendously du

e to his injuries and cannot cope with that physical pain and the onslaught of the psychic attack at the same time. He has to be stabilized or it will be too late.

So Spock reaches out to extend his own shields to protect the human. He has never done this before and the only instances he is aware of involved other Vulcans, but he believes it can be done. It_must_ be done. The connection is already made, all he needs to do is grab the safety net his mental shields provide and extend them through the meld into the human's mind and wrap his shields around Jim's mental self. It is the only way he can save the captain's mind.

_Jim_, he calls out, _please, you must let me in. I am here to help you._

_Please_, comes the choked whisper. _Don't._

_Jim. Let me in._

_I can't._

_Yes, you can. You can trust me._

_Please._

_Jim._

Slowly, he senses a shift in the mental landscape. _Jim, where are you_? he asks. _You must resist the pull of the attack, Captain. Block them. You can do that. Let me help you._

A pinprick of light appears on his horizon and suddenly the darkness recedes a fraction. Spock begins to see shapes in the pitch black darkness.

_Jim, push the voices away, push them out of your mind. They do no exist. They are only artificially created. Listen to my voice. I am the only one here, Jim._

And there finally, he sees it. That pinprick revealing itself as a pulsing, throbbing source of light: his captain's psychic self. It's like an unfettered length of rope, waving in a vacuum, in a space of absolute blankness. And it is injured. It has taken a beating at the hands of the malevolent attack of the psychic field. Spock reaches out with his mental hands and sends a wave of _safety, security, protectiveness_ towards the blinking, pulsing, source of energy, towards his captain. And suddenly, the pain drops, the darkness recedes and he watches in amazement as a sudden, bright, sparkling light fills the landscape around him.

He watches that point of light shimmering with the positive burst of energy he has sent towards it. He focuses on his shields, targeting them through the link, to extend them around his captain's psychic presence. But before he can, suddenly, that single pulsing thread of energy pours out of that tiny pinprick, splintering into strands of luminous, glowing strings that drape themselves around him. They fill his senses, and he's suddenly drenched in waves of _wonderment, affection, gratitude, loyalty, adoration, sympathy, respect_. It takes him a moment of utter bewilderment before he realizes the emotions belong not to him, but to the captain. And he does not know how to control these sensations flowing through him. He feels that pulse of energy, that source of Jim Kirk's psychic self, pouring out all this potent emotion into the mental link, feels it reaching out to the deepest core of him, to a part of him that no one else has ever seen. No one else but the bondmate that is lost, that no longer exists. He hears himself cry out as the connection is made between this bright, pulsing source of energy that is Jim Kirk, and his bond —his broken, injured bond that throbs and bleeds and hurts inside him.

He tries to pull back, as if shocked, tries to rein in his control, but he has not realized until now that his attempts to meld with Nyota have brought down his defenses, have left him compromised. His shields are not in their optimal condition, they are weaker... and the psychic presence battering at this defenses... is making them weaker still. And that... bright, burning source of light that is Jim, that positive, rejuvenating energy calls to him, like a source of life-affirming illumination in the thickness of choking darkness filled with malevolent energy, and he cannot help but reach for that source of goodness with his mind's hands. _Please, no,_ he cries. He must stop this, he must pull back, he must resist the lure of that incandescent mind. But with a choice between vengeful, evil, baleful thoughts and that lone, bright, burning essence of goodness, he cannot stop himself. He cannot stop his bleeding, aching, hurting bond reaching out and answering that siren call by enveloping itself around that welcoming heat.

He feels that pinprick expand and infuse him with a cacophony of emotion, pouring out a glut of _affection, caring, protectiveness, tenderness,_ and _love_. Love as he has never felt before. But he must stop it. He must stop this right now. He needs to stop it from wrapping him in all this sensation, in this sea of catastrophic emotion. He has to stop it because this is not what he is here for, this is not his, does not belong to him. But he is greedy. He cannot have this but he also must have this. He wants to drink it all in, keep it inside him and never let it go. He has been thirsty, oh so thirsty for this touch, for any touch. It is wrong, so wrong, but he cannot stop the two pulsing sources of energy from meeting and wrapping themselves around each other. For as they join, he feels their energies merging together to soothe all the pain and ache and hurt he has endured. All the pain he has suffered as he laid down each night and felt the wound inside him bleed from the broken bond. And it soothes all the pain Jim has endured. He can feel the healing energy like a balm on all their combined wounds inflicted, both old and new. Until all he can see is a warm, bright, burning light, a light that fills his whole being, a light that envelopes and saturates him with sensation, inundates his senses with a giddy happiness he has never felt in his life. A happiness that he knows does not belong to him, and yet it fills him and washes him clean with all its healing, loving power.

And in the middle of it all, stands a tall, lean figure, his golden hair as bright as the burning sun, his sky-colored eyes beautiful and filled with an insightful, knowing acceptance.

"Spock," he hears his name called out...

...and is suddenly, rudely pulled out of the meld. He finds himself lying on the transporter platform on the Enterprise. His hands are on the captain's face, hovering over the psi-points. His captain lies unconscious and injured, his shoulder bleeding onto the transporter platform. But the human's face is free of all discomfort and as Spock looks at the slack features, he feels a familiar hum crackle at the back of his mind.

"Spock," he hears his name called out and looks up into the concerned eyes of Dr. McCoy. Lt. Sulu and Ensign Chekov are hovering at one side of the transporter room. He sees Mr. Scott at the transporter controls.

"Get the stretchers," he hears the doctor bark to someone. He watches as two nurses haul the captain from the floor and load him onto the stretcher.

"Spock." He hears someone say his name but his eyes are already closing, his whole being suddenly filling with a strange, incomprehensible lethargy. The last thing he sees is the sight of Jim being carried from the transporter room on an antigrav stretcher.

And then he loses consciousness.

* * *

**Continued in A Second Chance, Part 2 of 4**


	2. Chapter 2

**A Second Chance, Part 2 of 4**

Leonard presses a button on the console, looks at the numbers scrolling and turns to his patient.

Jim looks better. The color is slowly returning to his face even if the scans are still troubling. He looks up at the doctor expectantly as if waiting for him to continue his narration. Leonard takes a deep breath.

"Twelve people died in the attack, Jim. Eight of them from the psychic field before the generator was disabled. Their minds just simply shut down." He sees a frown appear on his captain's face. "The rest succumbed to their injuries. As a matter of fact, out of the nine people who were stuck inside the Diplomatic Enclave, so close to the source of the signal, only one survived." Leonard looks at him closely. "You."

Jim looks grave as he contemplates this for a moment. The first thing he'd done when he'd woken up was ask for Spock. Leonard figures he had some idea of what had gone down on the planet, even though he seemed to have no real memories of events. The last thing he claims he remembers is beaming down to meet with Minister Utan. After that, everything is a haze.

Jim is looking at him thoughtfully, his eyes serious. "I guess the others weren't so lucky."

"Lucky my ass." Leonard snorts derisively, feeling a frown form between his brows as he turns to the neural scanner again. "I don't know what that green-blooded hobgoblin did, but whatever Vulcan mumbo jumbo he used worked. He saved your life."

"He melded with me."

Leonard looks up from the scans that are seriously freaking him out. "What?"

"Mind meld." Jim looks at him. "Spock did a mind meld with me."

"Yes." Leonard growls. "Fucking Vulcan black magic. I'm still not happy with the readings I'm getting from you. Sulu and Molaris are also showing some very strange numbers, but yours are the weirdest." He looks back at the neural scanner worriedly. "Your brain scan is lighting up in places that never used to show these colors before."

Jim smiles ruefully. "Maybe this means I get to be as smart as a Vulcan now."

"Don't even joke about it." Leonard snaps at him. "Jesus!"

"Really, Bones," Jim says, his tone placating. "It could be a lot worse and you know it."

"Yeah, I know." He grits his teeth as looks at his friend closely. "How're you feeling, kid, honestly?"

Jim's brows knit together in concentration, as if he is internally assessing his condition. After a moment, he shakes his head, looking pensive. "I know it sounds weird, but I actually feel good."

"Really now..." Leonard has to prompt him even if he has a very good idea of what Jim is talking about.

"Really, Bones." Jim looks at him. "I'm serious. I'm feeling good." He shrugs. "Very good, in fact."

"Yeah, well." Leonard presses his lips together. "Your neural activity would certainly corroborate what you're saying." He presses a panel on the console, bringing up a new image of Jim's brain. "See this part of your cerebral cortex." He points to a section on the screen that is lighting up like fireworks. "It shows all your pleasure centers are stimulated. It's like you're on a high, which is the strangest fucking thing in this situation." He scowls. "You're mostly off the sedatives. Your wound is healing perfectly so there's no need to give you anything too strong. And yet look at this." He shakes his head. "This makes you look like you're stoned."

"I don't feel stoned." Jim looks at him strangely. "I feel perfectly fine."

"You said you feel happy." Leonard has a nagging feeling in the back of his head, a feeling he can't suppress. "You're in sickbay. You're never happy in sickbay."

"But I'm about to get out, right?" Jim stares at him. "You're gonna release me today."

"Not until I'm absolutely sure that you're okay." Leonard straightens up. "And you're not going back on duty for another twenty four hours."

"Bones." Jim frowns. "I have a job to do, reports to file. An investigation to follow up on. A crime was committed under my watch, and I need to be back on my feet so that..."

"...I'm serious, Jim," Leonard raises his voice, cutting him off. "Spock's got everything under control. You can afford to rest up for a bit."

Something changes on Jim's face at the Vulcan's name. "What about Spock's brain scans?" His eyes narrow. "How come you let him go so quickly?"

Leonard waves him off. "Don't ask me about Vulcan brains, man. M'benga would probably be able to tell you more than me. His brain looked as confusing as it always has, as far as I'm concerned. But he is fine, otherwise."

"You're sure he's all right?" Jim asks.

"Yeah. I don't know how his head works, though." Seriously, understanding that sonofabitch is completely out of his fucking league. First he wouldn't leave the sickbay, insisting he had to stay with the captain until he was out of danger. And now that Jim is up, Leonard has seen neither skin nor hide of him in hours. Either he's too busy dealing with Fleet bureaucracy, or he is hiding somewhere silently castigating himself. Leonard turns to the captain. "The bastard's blaming himself for all this."

"What?" Jim sits up suddenly. "Blaming himself, why?"

Leonard has to snort. _Why the hell do you think?_ "For letting you get hurt, of course."

"That's not his fault." Jim's face is serious. "He's the one who saved my life."

"Yeah well, tell him that." Leonard shakes his head. "He's ready to pronounce himself guilty and get executed all by his lone self."

* * *

Jim has never felt so weirded out in his entire life.

What he told Bones was the truth. Despite his narrow escape on the planet, how close he came to almost dying, upon waking up he really did feel fine. His shoulder still hurts a little, and that is to be expected, but the wound is healing nicely. And whatever drugs Bones gave him make the pain manageable.

But the weirdness is something he can't quite fully fathom at the moment.

He knows Spock saved his life. He knew it before Bones told him. It's like he can still feel an echo of the meld at the back of his head. Which is similar to what he felt after the older Spock did the information dump on him down on Delta Vega. But in some ways it is not like that at all. For one thing, this meld went a lot deeper, he presumes. He doesn't really know what Spock saw in his mind, but he figures his First Officer must have probed a lot deeper than his counterpart did all those months ago. He doesn't remember much of what he went through, except... pain like he'd never felt before. Pain... and a swamp of thick, viscous fear, mingled with a sense of loneliness and abandonment, and betrayal that he knew was all being projected by the psychic field. All of which had suddenly been swept apart only to be replaced by a deluge of protectiveness and security, which was when he knew Spock had shown up.

But Spock had not been there when he woke up in sickbay. Bones told him Spock had stayed the whole time he'd been unconscious and had only left when the doctor had assured him Jim was out of danger and would be waking up soon. Which is strange in itself, considering Jim is still feeling as if Spock had never left at all. Like he is still there.

At the moment, however, Jim feels strangely disconnected from the whole experience. There is a gap in his memories of the meld, a fissure which Bones explained is his brain's response to the trauma it has endured.

Which probably explains the weirded out feeling he is getting.

Though, he cannot fathom why Spock would blame himself for what happened. It is not his fault. Jim will absolutely not stand for this.

Which is why, an hour after he is released from sickbay and has freshened up and changed into new clothes, he finds himself outside Science Lab 2. This is where the computer led him when he asked for his First Officer's location. He presses the panel to open the door and steps inside.

The room is empty, save for the lone figure of the half-Vulcan bent over a console, several padds stacked in front of him. Jim watches Spock for only a moment and knows the second his presence is noticed, because he sees Spock's shoulders tense before the man straightens up and turns around.

"Spock," Jim greets him.

"Captain." Spock stands up and faces him. "I am... pleased to see you are recovered." His eyes are warm even if his face does not give anything away as he looks at Jim closely. "I thought the doctor would detain you in sickbay."

"Yeah, Bones just released me." Jim smiles. "Though, don't tell him you saw me. I'm not supposed to be out of my quarters yet."

Spock tilts his head. "In this case, I would defer to Dr. McCoy's superior medical judgment. You should be resting."

"Please, not you too," he huffs. "I'm not going back on duty yet, all right?" He looks at his First Officer. "How were they able to turn off the generator?"

"The psionic field was being generated in a circumference of three hundred and sixty seven meters around the Diplomatic Enclave," Spock replies." Mr. Scott and Mr. Chekov were able to triangulate the location of the originating signal, which was found to be located in an abandoned structure inside the Diplomatic Enclave. They had to fire phasers in a targeted beam to destroy the structure, in order to disable the field."

Jim takes it in and then asks, "What about the generator?"

"We have recovered some intact pieces of it, and have teams working on finding what we can about its origin."

"Good." Jim says, "What's the word with Pike?"

Spock straightens up infinitesimally, shifting his arms behind his back. "He was predictably disturbed at the turn of events and is looking forward to speaking with you. As is Captain Rocci of the _Potomac_, whose teams assisted in our investigative measures on the planet. One native who apparently knew of the device, upon recognition by Mr. Chekov, has been taken into custody. Starfleet intelligence has been in contact with us, as they apparently have some clues about the possible whereabouts of the perpetrators of this crime."

Jim shakes his head. "Now they pay attention to us, huh? Too bad it had to take a crime of this magnitude for them to take us seriously."

Spock looks at him silently for a moment, something unreadable in his eyes. Then he says, "I have compiled my report for Starfleet and have sent it to your personal console for your perusal before it is submitted. I am available for discussion should you choose to make any changes or add any comments, or if you require my assistance with your report"

"Thank you, Mr. Spock." Jim looks at him closely. That strange look is disturbing him now and he remembers Bones' words about Spock blaming himself. He searches his First Officer's eyes for any sign of that uncharacteristic self-reproach. "I feel fine, Spock," he says lightly. "Perfect, actually." His tone is sincere. "Thanks to you."

And something strange happens. It's like watching shutters falling. Spock's expression closes off completely, his lips pressing together as he looks at Jim. "I am afraid, I do not share your belief, Captain." Jim opens his mouth to speak but Spock doesn't let him. "I had become cognizant of a possible security breach on the planet and yet failed to act judiciously, as a result of which not only you got injured, but a number of civilians were killed."

Jim stares at his First Officer. "Spock, you ran into a psychic minefield, in the midst of a telepathic attack which was hell-bent on assaulting all sentient minds within its range, an attack against which I had no defenses, and you got me out of there." He looks into Spock's eyes, urging him to understand. "You're the one who saved my life."

But Spock's face is set in stone. "If I had informed you promptly of the discussion I had with Minister Utan..."

"...it doesn't matter anymore," Jim interrupts him.

"I beg to differ, sir." There's a strange coldness in Spock's voice. "If we had informed Starfleet of our findings in time, we may have been able to prevent the attack before it occurred."

"We did inform Starfleet," Jim raises his voice. "And you'd spoken to the Antaren authorities immediately."

Now Spock frowns. "I merely lodged a complaint, against which no action was taken..."

"And the next morning, I lodged a complaint with Starfleet right in front of you, after you told me of your discussion. They also took no action, remember?" Jim takes a step forward. "The fact is... that device was already on the surface by the time you discovered the possible breach. There was nothing we could do."

"I could have done my job, Captain." He can see the self-recrimination on Spock's face, which he knows to be completely unwarranted. "If I had done my job to the best of my abilities, all those lives could've been saved. You would not have gotten hurt."

"Spock, stop this." Jim takes another step. "Stop blaming yourself." He reaches out and puts his hand on Spock's arm. "This is not your fault."

And Spock freezes. Jim watches Spock's face tilt down, sees his eyes widen, sees his gaze slide down to Jim's hand on his arm. He watches Spock's face go slack, sees his lips part. He watches Spock swallow heavily as if there's a constriction in his throat, sees his adam's apple bob.

"Spock?" He can suddenly feel his heart thumping loudly in his chest.

But Spock says nothing. He seems frozen, his dark eyes still on Jim's hand on his arm.

"Spock."

And Spock takes a step back, and Jim's arm falls to his side.

"I am pleased that you are well, Captain," Spock says, his gaze averted, his face looking too pale. "I will see you on the bridge when you return to duty."

"Sure, Commander." Jim hears himself say but his voice sounds as if it's coming from the bottom of a well. "See you."

Spock doesn't look at him as he leaves.

* * *

There are degrees of guilt.

From the most trivial offense, for which one is merely chastised or given the proverbial slap on the wrist, to the most heinous crimes inflicted upon a person, for which one should be tried in a court of law and subjected to the severest punishment possible befitting the dishonor earned.

Spock knows which kind should be ascribed to him.

He knows this feeling, knows that this emotion, this sense of _guilt_ he feels is an inherent human trait. Yet another shortcoming attributed to the deficiencies in his impure, hybrid nature. For there is no word for guilt in modern Vulcan. If he were a full Vulcan, he would not be feeling guilt. Such an emotional response would be deemed illogical. If he were a full Vulcan, he would not have made such a grave error, so as to be deemed _guilty_ in the first place. If he were a full Vulcan, his control would never have slipped. He would never have allowed the bond to be formed this way.

Yes, there are degrees of guilt and Spock's is the worst kind imaginable.

The incident on Antara showed him the one lone thing that could finally ease his pain. A link, a true warrior bond, with a friend, a brother, with someone who could be even more. But the bond was formed without his intended's permission. Given a choice, Spock does not think Jim would have opted for this situation. Captain Kirk enjoys the company of females. Spock knows that, the whole ship knows that. The number of times the captain has flirted with Nyota is testament to where his preferences lie. He could not have possibly chosen Spock of his own accord, no matter how deep their friendship, their loyalty, their regard for each other. Not him, the blue-eyed, golden boy of Starfleet.

In his weakened state, in his greed, his ardent, aching hunger for a touch, any touch, Spock allowed this bond to form. The fact that he feels... _contentment, harmony, pleasure, happiness_ in Jim's presence, in opening up his mind to the bond, _proves_ he is guilty. He does not deserve any of this. He has not earned the bond.

And Jim is not the only one he has wronged.

He has caused hurt to two people he cares about the most. The beautiful, talented Nyota, the woman he was in a relationship with, and with whom he utterly failed. And Kirk. The at times brash, impetuous, bold and arrogant young captain, who has proven his intellect, his intelligence, his loyalty, his compassion, and his worth many times over.

One he could no longer bear to stand the sight of. And the other he feels he could not get enough of.

There are too many wrongs in this picture. Too many good intentions gone amiss, too many courses chosen hastily, impulsively, erroneously. He will correct one of them right now.

He presses the chime and after a moment, the door opens.

"Spock!" Nyota looks partly surprised, partly relieved to see him. He has been avoiding her since the incident on Antara and knows she has been troubled at his evasion. But he knows he cannot ignore this anymore.

"Nyota," he greets her, his face impassive. "May I come in?"

She gives him an unsure smile. "Of course." She steps back to let him come inside.

He stops in the middle of her quarters, his eyes lingering on her cherished _Kikuyu_ sculpture on the shelf, and the intricately woven set of baskets representative of the ancient _Embu_ people from whom Nyota's lineage has descended. He sees her lyre on a corner table, eyes the collection of poetry books she collects on the shelf. He lets his senses fill with all these sights, knowing he has no clue when he will ever be here again.

"Have a seat."

He looks at her and feels strangely disconnected to whatever emotion he is supposed to be feeling. He knows it is remorse but he cannot seem to reach for it at the moment. "I prefer to stand."

Something lurks in her eyes, some strange, new emotion he has never witnessed in her eyes before. "Spock" She looks unsure. Nyota whom he knows to be the most confident human female he has ever met, is all of a sudden uncertain of his intentions. He has caused this. "Spock, what's going on?"

He puts his arms behind his back, straightens up. "I wish to speak to you..." he pauses.

"You're making me nervous, Spock," she frowns. "Speak to me about what?"

He looks at her, does not hesitate as he says, "I wish to terminate our romantic affiliation."

"Spock!"

Her mouth falls open, he sees confusion fill her beautiful eyes. But he feels strangely anesthetized to her emotions. His senses are filled with Jim. How can he relate to what she is feeling, even when he is the cause of her pain, when all he can think of is Jim? When all he can envisage is the lure of his mind, the beauty of his compassion; the compassion that soothes him and heals his hurts. The wound that had resided in his mind for so many months, bleeding and aching and throbbing, finally feels assuaged, nursed, restored to health. He needs this balm, this salve that pacifies his mind, is greedy for it.

Even though he knows he does not deserve it.

Just as he does not deserve Nyota.

"Nyota," he begins again. "I cannot continue with this anymore."

"Spock, I did something, didn't I?" She looks stricken. "What did I do?"

"Nothing, my Nyota," he insists, feeling a tightness in his throat he forces to dispel. "You did nothing. I am simply... unable to continue with our current arrangement."

"Oh Spock, please tell me what happened." He can see tears in her eyes, and he cannot deal with this. He cannot deal with her pain.

He raises his hand as if to touch her, to comfort her, and then pulls it back. "Forgive me for causing you this hurt. I did not wish to be the cause of pain for you." He looks into her eyes and finally tells her the truth. "But I need more than our liaison can provide. I am sorry."

Understanding dawns in her eyes as she stares up at him. "Oh Spock, I don't know what to say."

"Say nothing, _tal-kam_," he says softly. "For there is nothing to say. It is not your fault."

"If there's anything..." She takes a step towards him. "If there was some way...I could try to..."

He moves backward. _No!_ "There isn't. You cannot. Please forgive me."

He turns around and walks out of her quarters. That feeling of numbness is all pervasive now, it fills his senses. Apparently he did not need to be blunt to tell her the truth after all.

He just needed to be numb.

And now he must extend this feeling of numbness further. He cannot taint Jim's mind anymore with his pervasive presence. He is not sure he can sever the bond without causing either himself or his bondmate irreparable damage, but he cannot continue tasting the forbidden fruit of his bondmate's unfettered emotions, his abundance of compassion.

Such is not his right.

The bond must be blocked.

* * *

Jim comes back to duty on the third day after the incident on Antara, to find Spock missing from the bridge.

It has something to do with the component they recovered from the destroyed Psychic Field Generator on Antara, on which the two science and engineering teams are busy working day and night, in order to find more clues of its origin. Or so goes the word.

Scotty is being completely territorial about what they have started calling the _P-9 component_ and Spock has left a standing request with Jim to kindly refrain from entering Science Lab 2 where the component has been stored under quarantine as he is supposedly not allowed to ever go near it again. Because, you know, they would prefer to prevent him from coming near the device in the event it is ever accidently activated again. Even in its current dismantled state. Without the microprocessor which turns the damn thing on, that is.

As if the psychic field would differentiate between Jim's mind and minds of the other four hundred and sixty three crewmembers that reside on the ship.

Jim would seriously roll his eyes, were he not suffering from this headache that just would not go away.

They are days away from their next stop, and Admiral Pike was no help at all when he ordered that they let him put the _Potomac_ on the perpetrators' tail rather than the Enterprise, because _Potomac_ is a science vessel and supposedly better equipped to conduct such an investigation, even though it is Jim's officers who recovered the component and it was his crew with the most information on what went down there. He argued and eventually got his way, but with a compromise. Enterprise is to conduct the investigation in collaboration with the _Potomac's_ team, and they will continue with the mission which was already on their schedule. All this debate had his head bursting with pain. And he hasn't fucking slept in two whole days. _Christ!_

Jim closes his eyes and tentatively reaches for that echo that had stayed with him from the moment he'd woken up. That echo at the back of his head that had reminded him of safety, of protectiveness. But it's no longer there.

All he hears is a pin drop silence.

He feels a strange despondency fill him, like nothing matters. Like there's no purpose to anything. And what makes everything worse is that aside from their briefing sessions on the mission, Spock is nowhere to be seen. After all these months working together, Jim has gotten used to Spock's presence on the bridge, in the commissary, in the rec room. But now he feels as if Spock is purposely avoiding him. Jim doesn't know where this feeling comes from but he is almost certain of it. Was it because of something he did? Does Spock... feel uncomfortable because Jim touched his hand that day? His reaction seemed to suggest he does. But that is incomprehensible, utterly unacceptable. Jim is always touching Spock. He is a tactile person, he touches everyone. Besides, Spock has never objected to those gestures before. Sure he gave Jim his semi-serious glares, but he never turned away from Jim before.

Is it because of something he saw in Jim's mind? What was it that he saw that he found so repugnant? What secret did he discover that turned him off? Is Jim's mind that disgusting, that reprehensible, that Spock doesn't even want to spend time with him anymore? Jim asked him to join him for lunch today and Spock declined. He never used to do that before.

Suddenly Jim feels he doesn't have the strength to care. There is no purpose to anything. Everything is a fluke. Sometimes he feels even his captaincy is a fluke.

He doesn't know why it took him so fucking long to come to this realization.

* * *

On the fourth day, Spock has just returned to his quarters for the night when his comm. screen beeps. He looks at the incoming message and realizes it is a subspace channel.

It is a message from Sarek.

He stares at the blinking screen a moment longer, wondering if he can somehow avoid it. He has a feeling that he is being irrational, that perhaps many of the decisions he has made lately are irrational, but he does not know what else to do. He knows what this is about. He also knows his father well enough to realize he will persist until he has finally spoken to Spock. There is no way he can evade this. He takes a deep, calming breath, seats himself in front of the comm. screen and presses the panel.

Sarek's face appears on the screen.

"Father," Spock says.

"Spock." Sarek's face looks as impassive as ever. "Are you well?"

"I am, Father," Spock replies. "How is your health?"

"I, too, am well." Sarek's eyes seem to assess him for a moment, and then he begins, "Spock, I was appraised of the incident on Antara."

Spock keeps his face straight. "Incident, Father?"

"The matter of the psionic field device." Sarek looks at him closely, his face still solemn, though his eyes are probing Spock. "I wished to inquire about your wellbeing. I know that with the encumbrance of a broken betrothal bond, such an assault could prove difficult for a Vulcan."

Spock feels his lips pressing together as he returns his father's stare. "I was able to effectively shield from the effects of the device, Father. My mental discipline proved adequate, you need not be concerned."

"I am aware your mental disciplines serve you well, Spock." Now he sees Sarek lift one brow, a sign he is not quite sure of what he is hearing. "However, I believe you should meet with a Healer to assess your condition."

_No_. Spock sits ramrod straight in his seat, and looks at Sarek impassively. He does not want a Healer. "I see no need, Father," he says. "I am quite well."

"It has been many months since we last spoke of this, Spock." Sarek looks at him seriously. "You must seek a Healer. Your bond requires a tether."

"I do not wish to speak of this," Spock says sharply and immediately he can see the perplexity on Sarek's face, both his brows rising up. He has never spoken to his father in this tone. He immediately tilts his head and softens his tone. "Forgive me, Father, but I truly have it under control. You need not concern yourself."

Sarek looks at him closely for a few more moments. Spock is not sure his father believes him, but Sarek finally nods. "Very well. Live long and prosper, Spock."

Spock nods. "Be well, Father."

* * *

By the fifth day, Jim's listlessness has become noticeable to his bridge crew.

He has been withdrawn, feeling dull and disinterested with everything, giving monosyllabic answers to the bridge queries all day. Spock is once again not at his station. Though, Jim keeps asking him to join him for his meals. The answer is always no. Politely refused, with a logically presented excuse, but refused nonetheless.

And Jim cannot even bring himself to be disappointed. For the first time in years, he feels as if he made a mistake by joining Starfleet. He has never felt this alone, this desolate, even when he was on his own, living day to day, before Christopher Pike found him in a bar.

He still cannot sleep. He hasn't had more than six hours of shut eye since he went back on the bridge. He has also started avoiding the commissary and the rec room, holing up in his quarters to take whatever meal he can bear to swallow.

And that is where McCoy finds him that night.

The doctor takes one look at Jim's face and is pushing his way into his quarters, an enraged scowl on his face.

"What the fuck is going on with you, man?"

Jim turns to face him as the door closes. "What are you saying, Bones?"

"What am I saying?" Bones stares at him incredulously. "Have you looked into a mirror lately? You've got bags the size of golf balls under your fucking eyes. You're not sleeping, are you?"

Jim shrugs. "I can't."

McCoy looks at him closely. "What do you mean you can't? Why not?" He frowns. "You told me you were fine. That's why I released you from sickbay."

"I'm fine." Jim raises both arms and lets them drop away as he stares at Bones. His shoulders droop. "I just can't sleep."

"Fucking moron." McCoy grits his teeth. "Can't even take care of himself."

Jim gives a laugh, but it sounds hollow. Painful. "Don't overly concern yourself, Bones, it's not that important."

"What? Your health is not important?" McCoy growls. "You're the fucking captain!"

Jim snorts as he turns away from him and goes into his bedroom, his gait sluggish, muttering, "Not for long."

He hears McCoy's enraged, "What do you mean, not for long?"

"I don't think I can do this anymore, Bones." He is climbing into his bed, grabbing the pillow and punching it. Listlessly. He can't even punch a fucking pillow with any ire.

McCoy grabs his shoulder and turns him around to face him. "What is wrong with you?"

Jim should shrug off the hand on his shoulder but he doesn't even give a fuck about that. "It's too hard. Nothing makes sense. I can't take this anymore."

He must've struck some nerve because Bones is almost shouting in his face. "Can't take what?"

"Starfleet. This job" he says to probably the only person who gives a damn about him. But Jim knows Bones shouldn't bother. He really shouldn't care. "My life!"

"Jesus Christ," Bones swears and suddenly a hypo appears in his hand out of nowhere which he promptly stabs in Jim's neck viciously.

"Ow," Jim cries weakly. "What was that for?"

"This is to get you out of this fucking funk you've fallen into." McCoy sighs. "Three days ago you told me you were feeling fabulous and your brain scan was lighting up like a fuckin' Tovarian flea on crack! And today you're ready to fold everything and resign."

Jim blinks up at him, his mind suddenly feeling foggy, as the drug enters his bloodstream and his brain releases neurotransmitters. "I'm feeling all woozy."

"Good!" Bones scowls down at him as he pushes him down to lie in a supine position. "At least it'll shut you up about the world coming to an end."

"I hate you," Jim mumbles but his eyes are already closing.

"Yeah, you can hate me when you wake up." He hears Bones' voice coming from a distance. "Go to sleep now."

And for the first time in days, Jim does as he is told. Under the watchful eyes of his friend, he falls into a deep, drug-induced asleep.

* * *

Spock is attempting to meditate when he hears his door chime.

He has not found it easy to do so lately. Keeping his mental shields erected against the bond at all times in an arduous task. He has also not been able to sleep properly. The proximity to his bondmate, with their quarters only separated by a bulkhead in between, the strength of the bond overwhelms him. So the lack of rest and the inability to meditate to compensate for that exhaustion has been depleting his energies.

Therefore, it takes him a few moments to come out of the mental space he is in to hear the chime, and by the time he opens his eyes, whoever is at the door is apparently at the end of their patience, obvious by the constant buzzing now sounding from the door. As he gets up from the floor and puts on his robe, he estimates the time to be 1045 hours. He has no idea who could be at the door at this time.

He opens the door to find Dr. McCoy scowling at him.

"You weren't answering your comm," the doctor says accusingly.

Spock looks at him warily as he lets him come in. "I apologize, Doctor, but I was...occupied and did not hear the chime. Is everything all right?"

"I don't know." McCoy looks exasperated. "I just wanted to tell you that Jim's not feeling well, so I'm giving him a day off duty tomorrow." Spock feels himself freeze at the words. "More, if needed. You'll have to handle ship business yourself until he's feeling better."

Spock stares at the doctor. "What is wrong with the captain?"

"I have no fucking clue." McCoy seems wound up, his brows scrunched together. "He's... depressed."

Spock feels his throat tighten. "Depressed?"

"Yeah." McCoy stares at him and then looks around the room. "Why the hell is it so dark in here?"

Depressed. Jim was depressed. Spock stares at the doctor. "I was... attempting to meditate. Computer, lights to 60 percent."

"Now that's better." McCoy nods and turns back to Spock. He does a double take when he looks closely at Spock. "Wait a minute. What's wrong?"

Spock is startled. "Wrong?"

McCoy steps closer to him, his eyes probing. "You don't look too good either. What the hell is going on with you two?"

Spock composes himself quickly, straightening up as he stares at the doctor. "I do not know what you are talking about."

Which is apparently the wrong thing to say, because McCoy suddenly explodes: "Are you hiding something from me too? Because I swear to God, Spock, if you are lying about your health condition then God help us because this ship will not be able to function with both its Captain and First Officer physically or emotionally compromised."

Spock feels his hands clench and puts them behind his back to keep them from view, looking calmly at the McCoy. "I assure you, Doctor, I am fine."

"Yeah, well, you fucking don't look it." McCoy frowns at him. "You want a sleeping aid? I could ask M'benga to get you something."

"Negative, I do not require medicinal aid, my meditation would suffice." Spock shakes his head. Then he asks him, "Is the captain going to be all right?"

Apparently, mentioning the captain takes the doctor's focus away from Spock and back to the subject at hand. "I'm not sure." McCoy turns and starts to pace around the room. "I've never seen him so down in all the time I've known him. I hate to say this but he looks almost... clinically depressed." The doctor is agitated, the lines of his body taut with tension. "He was fine five days ago, so I have no idea what brought this on."

Spock feels alarm descend on him. "Will... you be able to help him?"

"I've given him a tranquilizer, but that is only a stopgap measure." The doctor gestures sharply as he walks a few paces, turns, and then walks another few paces, his body language revealing his stress. "To make him well, I'll have to treat him for whatever has gotten him feeling this way. And I have no clue." But Spock does. He had a very good idea about what had gotten the captain in this state. "Jim's not the depressed kind," McCoy says. "He's always hyper-active, on the go, all the time. But he's almost... completely distressed right now, which is totally not his style. I've been preoccupied the past two days and haven't had a chance to see him so I had no clue he was feeling this way. If it weren't for Uhura coming to tell me that he was not looking well, I would not have known."

That tightness in his throat has become a choking constriction. "I am... most concerned to hear of this."

"Yeah?" McCoy stares at him. "Well, you're not the only one. But I want you on your feet, feeling fine. This ship needs you, Spock. Jim needs you."

And suddenly Spock has his answer. He knows what to do. He looks at the doctor. "I... will be there for him."

McCoy nods. "I'll let him sleep off the sedative." He moves towards the door. "He should be out for a good twelve hours."

Spock looks at him. "And after that?"

McCoy stops and looks at him. "After that... we figure out how to help him."

Spock is reeling by the time the door closes and he staggers back to stand in the middle of the room. He feels a tremor go through his frame as he looks down at the floor, his heart beating fast in his side.

He has caused his bondmate distress. Because he has been blocking the bond, Jim is in pain. Emotional distress. His hands curl into fists. How much more damage is he going to cause his bondmate? First he allows himself to invade Jim's privacy, allows the bond to form without Jim's knowledge. Then he feeds off on his natural compassion and protectiveness through the bond, a bond of which he is unaware. And now he blocks off the bond and causes Jim to become clinically depressed. How severe it must have been for the crew to have observed it? For Nyota to have noticed.

Spock feels inundated with a sense of absolute dismay at himself.

He turns and faces the viewport, his breath stuttering in his chest, as his feet take him to the cleared space in front that he reserves for meditation. But he doesn't slide down to face the room. Instead, he stands in front of the viewport, his eyes on the view of space, the stars streaking past at warp. He looks at the blackness of space, the stars sparkling, twinkling strips of light, and raises his arms, pressing his palms against the transparent viewport. He watches the warp trail flickering in the periphery of his vision, similar to the bond that is always there. Burning, iridescent, at the back of his mind. He imagines his bondmate's presence to be like the stars. Always sparkling, glittering, shining. In the periphery of his consciousness.

He remains standing as he closes his eyes and takes deep breaths to balance himself. Then he reaches inside his mind, across the darkness, as he lifts the block, raising his mental shields as he reaches across to his bondmate. Behind the veil of drugged confusion, induced by the tranquilizer given by Dr. McCoy, he finds a dull, melancholic sadness pervading his bondmate's mind. He is appalled, cannot believe he did this. There is so much sadness, so much despondency in this place. Such despair as he has never known before. This is not Jim Kirk. This is not his captain. What has he reduced his bondmate to?

He reaches for the bond and almost gasps at what he finds. It looks shriveled, abandoned, lonely. He slowly slides down to his knees, reaches across their shared mental landscape, and touches the bond slowly, gently, lovingly. He sends out a surge of _hope, treasure, safety, belonging_—all the positive thoughts he can send out. _Everything is going to be all right, ashal-veh. You are not alone._ He takes the silky strands of the hurt bond in his mental hands and strokes it lovingly. He runs his fingers over it, softly, caressingly, over and over and over, until he feels its luster return, sees the dullness recede. And he's suddenly flooded by a swell of _gratitude_ and _affection_, and a sense of unbearable yearning fills his heart.

And he breathes it all in.

He has to keep the bond open. He has tried to block it and seen the consequences. He cannot risk it again. He also does not know how he could ever sever the bond if the need arose. The thought of breaking off that precious link fills him with dread, makes him almost physically ill. He has seen it in its current state, when he reached across his bondmate's mind when he was in distress. The bond is too well-formed, too strong. Even in its distressed state, the link was solid, alive, injured but surviving. Just like Jim Kirk.

But he knows this is transitional. That it will not last long. He feels cherished and absolutely inundated by warmth in the presence of all these emotions but he knows he only has a short time to enjoy this. How long can he keep this hidden? From his father, from McCoy. From Jim. Sooner or later someone will find out. And when they do, the charade will be over. When Jim finds out, Spock knows he will be rejected.

He knows it won't be for much longer.

* * *

Jim wakes up the next day, to find Bones puttering around his quarters. He yawns hugely and looks at the chronometer blearily. 1525 hours. _Damn. 1525?_

"Bones, what the fuck did you give me last night?" he complains as he rises up.

"Oh, you're awake." McCoy looks at him and with a scowl firmly placed on his face, slowly approaches him, a medical tricorder in hand. "How're you feeling?"

Jim rubs his eyes as he throws back the covers and straightens his legs, turning to sit up. He shakes his head to get his bearings, and then looks up at his friend, surprised. "I think... I feel okay."

McCoy narrows his eyes as he runs the tricorder over him, eyes on the readings. "Define okay."

"Good." Jim nods as he follows the movement of the scanner as it does a full body scan. "I'm feeling good."

"Well, you could've fooled me last night." McCoy frowns, as he punches a few buttons on the scanner. "You looked like death warmed over."

Jim sighs. "Bones, I don't know what happened last night. But I feel perfectly all right now."

And he really is. He feels as if... that weird, ugly feeling of hopelessness that had filled his senses was a thing of dreams. It is not there anymore.

"You feel perfectly all right?" Bones still doesn't look convinced as he looks between the tricorder and his face and back. "Even great?" Yep, not convinced at all; he looks suspicious. He finally puts the tricorder down and looks up at him. "Like you did when you woke up in sickbay five days ago?"

_Damn_. Jim coughs, hedging. "Umm..."

Bones snaps, "Say it."

He shrugs. "...kind of."

"Jesus," Bones swears. "I didn't realize I'd have to deal with a fucking bipolar captain when I signed up for this position."

Jim laughs suddenly. "Bones, you know I'm not bipolar. I really don't know what happened to me last night but I really am feeling all right now."

"Not just last night." McCoy shakes his head. "Uhura told me you'd been like that for the past couple of days."

Jim frowns. "Uhura?"

"Yeah, she came to see me because she thought you were looking peaky." McCoy huffs. "Why the hell do you think I barged into your quarters last night?"

Oh well. Whatever it was is over now. Jim can feel it in his bones. "Well, no need to worry yourself anymore. I feel great." _Cherished, loved, cared for, soaked in affection, adoration._ Jim blinks. _Whoa!_ This should probably weird him out a little more, but it doesn't. This feels as if... it belongs here. A thought occurs to him; Jim looks up at his friend. "Maybe it was a delayed reaction to the mindfuck I went through on Antara. Maybe it was a delayed PTSD thing."

McCoy looks at him closely. "Hmm."

"You said my brain suffered a trauma," Jim says and suddenly it makes sense. That's what it must be. "Maybe that's how it manifested."

McCoy narrows his eyes again. "Five days later."

Jim shrugs. "Hey, I said..._delayed_ PTSD."

McCoy sighs as he turns away to pick up a padd lying on the table. "I honestly don't know what to do with you. You and Spock both."

Jim feels himself frown. "What about Spock?"

"He's okay, I guess." McCoy shrugs. "But he looked like hell last night too."

What? Jim stares up at the doctor. "Why? Is he okay?"

"How the hell should I know?" McCoy scowls and moves out to the living room. "Between the Psychic field crap and his breakup with Uhura, I can only imagine him feeling out of his depth."

"What?" Jim shoots up to his feet. "Spock and Uhura have broken up?"

When did this happen? How did he not notice?

"What dimension are you living in, man?" Bones turns to look at him. "It's been days. I must admit, I didn't know until Chapel told me, apparently Uhura and her are close. But yeah, it's been a few days now."

_Days_. The days that Spock has been missing from the bridge? "Well, I haven't seen Spock in days." Jim follows him out. "He's changed his entire fucking schedule, he's not even on alpha shift anymore."

"Well, no wonder," he hears Bones mutter. "It must be damn awkward for those two."

Jim suddenly stops in his tracks as realization dawns.

"Oh. Right." So that was why Spock was not on the bridge. He was... avoiding Uhura, not _him_. Why the hell did he think Spock would avoid him at all? Christ! "Damn, that... sucks."

"Yeah well, I always knew those two weren't right for each other," McCoy says.

Jim turns to look at him. "Shut up, Bones. Give him a break."

"What did I say?" Bones stares at him. "It's not about Spock, you know. There are two people involved here."

"Yeah well, you're always on Spock's case." Jim presses his lips together. "I just wish you would give him a break, for once." Stop blaming Spock, stop abusing him, stop riding his ass all the time. He looks at his friend. "Besides, we know they're both professional enough to get past this in an... amicable manner."

There's a strange look on the doctor's face. "Yeah well, Uhura seems to be faring better than Spock at this time."

But Spock will be all right. Jim knows this. Spock will be just fine. He may think he doesn't have anyone to turn to, but he has friends on this ship. He is not alone.

Jim will make sure of that.

* * *

"So you're telling me that not only is the psychic field artificially generated, it can actually be manipulated by non-telepathic minds?" asks Dr. McCoy.

All the scientists working on the _P-9 component_ are assembled in Briefing Room 2 to discuss the investigation. Mr. Scott and Engineer Roberts from the Enterprise, and Mr. Neeson and Mr. Paulson from the _Potomac_. Jim is sitting to his left, leaning back in his chair, his face clear of the exhaustion that has filled his eyes the past few days. He is looking well-rested and clear-headed.

"Indeed," Spock replies. "In fact, that appears to be its primary purpose. To manipulate the minds of sentient species found within a telepathic bandwidth, despite being generated through an artificially created psionic medium."

"To what end?" McCoy asks. "To wage war against whom... non-telepaths who have no defenses against such a weapon?"

Spock inclines his head. "It could be used as a terrorist weapon, yes."

"Maybe it is the other way around," says Roberts. "Maybe it's meant to thwart the effects of a ... telepathic attack itself."

"Waging war against telepaths," Neeson murmurs.

"Or defending against a telepathic attack," Paulson chips in.

Spock looks at him. "That is certainly a possibility, as the only way to repel a telepathic interference would be to create a psionic medium through which contact can either be made, or repelled."

"But is there a defense against this weapon?" The captain looks at him. "Any way we can suppress the effects of the psionic field?"

Spock replies, "We are working on a prototype of a suppressor unit with the help of the _Potomac_ scientists, which can possibly negate the effects of the psychic interference. If such a device is worn on your person, and the psionic field is activated, its effects could be successfully suppressed."

Jim asks, "How long before it is complete?"

"We're working around the clock, Captain," Scotty replies. "We're predicting close to another seventy hours."

"Good." Jim nods and then asks them, "Now what about its origin?''

"I did some digging of my own," Scotty says. "Seems like there is one piece of circuitry inside the _P-9 component_... that comes from what initially appeared to be an unlikely source."

"However," Spock adds, "upon further investigation, we found it was not so unlikely after all."

Jim looks at him. "What?"

Spock presses a button on the table, bringing up the image of a planet on the wall screen. On a panel next to the screen, data starts scrolling upward. "Arkon III. The Federation had no previous information on the planet prior to the First Contact made by USS _Bogart_ in 2214. They used to be a peaceful race until fifteen years ago when their planetary governmental structure broke down, with various factions erupting in civil war against each other," Spock says. "However, despite the civil unrest, a nest of mercenary groups have thrived on the planet and there is a large network of underground organizations working on the acquirement and distribution of pirated products, including technology piracy that has found buyers from across the quadrant."

Jim looks at the screen, his face thoughtful. "Yeah, the Federation has tried to put a stop to that crap many times, but due to their mercenary nature, the network uses splinter groups to operate, and it is difficult to catch someone when there is no central hierarchy to pinpoint."

"Indeed," Spock says.

Dr. McCoy frowns. "Aren't these the guys that have a link with the Orion Syndicate as well?"

"They are," Spock replies.

"So that component originated from there?" Neeson asks.

Scotty says, "The processor chip definitely has a manufacturing signature which appears to have originated from one of the splinter groups working on Arkon III."

"So what are we waiting for?" McCoy looks around the table.

Jim looks at the doctor, then at each person sitting around the table until his eyes rest on Spock. "After our upcoming mission is over, that's our next stop."

* * *

The invitations to join him at meals continue to be extended.

And continue to be politely declined.

Jim doesn't understand the rationale behind either of those occurrences.

He doesn't know why he feels so drawn to his First Officer. More than he already has been in the past, that is. Yes, it is true that he has always found Spock compelling. He has always been fascinated by Spock's intelligence, his wit, his intellect. His economy of movement. His supposedly poker face which gives away so much through his very human, very expressive eyes.

But this is different. This is new. He'll be going about the most boring, tedious task, like signing off on reports, or getting the astrometry report from Chekov and making course corrections with Sulu. The most boring things. things that routinely make him want to bang his head against the bulkhead. He would be on the bridge, or eating lunch with Bones, or in Engineering catching up with Scotty, his mind feeling tired and foggy after the long day, mentally signing off for the day already. Then it will suddenly happen.

He'll feel it like a gust of cool, fresh air filling his nostrils. His lungs will expand and he will feel it like the first rays of sunshine breaking through the fog in his mind. The heavy dark clouds will break and Jim will feel a strange, crazy giddiness filling his chest. And he will turn around and inevitably... there he'll be. Spock... stepping off the turbolift. Or through the sliding doors into the commissary. Or going up to the upper level on Engineering.

And suddenly his mood will lift. Jim will feel an irreverent smile fighting to break on his lips, a smile he would barely manage to stave off. Sometimes their eyes will meet and he will think he would see an answering flash in the half-Vulcan's eyes. But even when Spock does not look his way, even when Spock goes about as if he has not noticed him, Jim knows Spock is aware of him. Just as Jim is aware of Spock. On a cellular level, inside his skin, through the blood coursing through his veins. He doesn't know how he knows this. He doesn't know how he knows Spock can feel it too. But that strange feeling of assurance, of confirmation zings through his veins, just as his blood runs through them.

He also doesn't know why Spock ignores him, or tries to, even though he doesn't want to. Jim knows Spock doesn't want to.

And at night, he dreams.

Of pale skin that blushes sage, of lithe, strong limbs wrapping around him, of hot skin sliding against him. Of soft, shiny, jet black hair through which his dream hands card their fingers. Of slanted eyebrows and pointed ears. He wakes up disoriented, disheveled and disquieted. What the fuck is wrong with him? Why is he dreaming about Spock? Spock is his First Officer, one of his closest friends. Spock has also only just broken up with his girlfriend, who also happens to be his comm. officer. It has been merely a week and Jim is already having lustful thoughts about his very serious, very reserved First Officer.

What kind of a moron is he?

* * *

They arrive at Starbase 321 two days later.

Their 'mission', so to speak, is to pick up medical supplies to take to Merak II, which is four days away. Jim keeps hoping that someday Starfleet will realize that it is imprudent to use their flagship as a goddamned cargo vessel, but he has no clue when that day will come. And since it really is medical supplies, he does not want to grumble too much.

Starbase 321 is a science facility. Medical specialists from many Federation worlds come to attend the conferences and seminars held here, which are renowned all over the quadrant. Bones is especially ecstatic to have docked here for that reason alone, even if they're only here for one day.

So to appease his friend, Jim has accompanied him to the surface, hoping to check out the sights. There is nothing particularly spectacular about the base, it has its usual assortment of Starfleet science types mulling about, with briefing rooms filling with enthusiastic participants arriving to join in the discussions. If the topics had wavered out of the medical realm towards the more technological, Jim would certainly be interested, but they do not. Still it is good to be off the ship for a little while, and Bones insisted he needed a change of scenery after the few days he's had.

Although, he is perfectly all right now. There is no need for Bones to be worried anymore, Jim tells him as they walk around the facility to arrive at a lecture hall where a conference on _Effects of Pandemic Viruses on Non-humanoid DNA_ is being held. Only to have Bones promptly occupy himself in an engaging discussion on _Vikaa'ri Parasites_ with a Tellarite doctor who is assigned as CMO on USS _Jinnah_. Jim listens to the discussion on the rash-like symptoms of pandemic flu and the morbidity rate of the Tropian strain on herbivore physiology, which is truly fascinating to behold, he grins at Bones, but he really must find his own entertainment, or he surely will go nuts.

At least the place has several well-stocked bars to make use of, Jim realizes with relief as he waves at Bones and walks into the first establishment.

And that is when he sees the two of them.

Spock with the alien male, sitting on stools right next to each other.

* * *

Spock's intentions are completely and utterly innocent. The thought that the Hekaran scientist could be interested in anything beyond their enlightening discussion on Relativistic Physics does not even occur to him.

In fact, was he to be aware of the alien's less than pure intentions, he honestly would not know what to do. He has never been with a male before. All he wants is a chance to get away for a short period. On the ship, he has too many people he wishes to avoid. Nyota who looks at him with wounded, confused eyes. And Jim... who fills his senses with longing every second of the day. Makes him see blue eyes and pink lips and soft, pale, human skin in his mind's eye. Make him think of callused fingers and golden hair and strong arms. Jim, who is like a drug. A drug Spock cannot get enough of. But a drug that he must avoid.

So when the Hekaran male smiles and leans forward to put a hand on his knee in a knowing gesture, he is completely unprepared.

* * *

They are sitting at the bar right across from Jim, but since he is standing next to a pillar, he has not been seen. Their elbows are almost touching, as they speak in hushed tones, with an air of covert intimacy. Then the alien, a tall, handsome Hekaran male, leans into Spock's personal space and puts a proprietary hand on Spock's knee.

And suddenly Jim sees red.

A sudden, haze of burning, hot rage descends on him. He feels this incredibly unfathomable wave of anger and possessiveness and hurt and anguish, all of which is completely and entirely irrational and uncalled for, envelop him. He staggers back, feelings his knees shaking as he feels his hands clench into fists, feels this burning, aching need to smash something, to break something, to... to kill someone.

The anger astounds him, it burns him and scorches him from the inside, but he cannot stop it from taking over his senses. He has this urge to pick something up and smash it down to the floor, breaking it into a thousand pieces. He wants to rain down his fists on this glass table in front of him and shatter it, break it, like he can feel his heart breaking. In that red, burning haze, his body shuddering with hurt and betrayal and pain and _oh god it hurts so much, so fucking much_, he turns around and stalks out of the bar. He hears Bones call his name out but he doesn't answer, cannot answer. He strides over to the beam-out coordinates and calls the transporter room.

When he is back, he staggers out of the transporter room, ignoring the shocked look on the face of the on-duty Ensign, that black thundercloud over his head, as fuming, he stalks back to his quarters and locks the door.

But before he can pick up anything to smash, to break into smithereens, he feels his stomach clench, feels his guts twisting inside, bile rising into his throat. He runs to the bathroom.

He barely makes it inside before he is violently ill.

* * *

Spock notices something is wrong the moment the feelings of absolute _misery, pain_ and _dejection_ consume him. He knows they come from his bondmate, who is in some kind of distress. He rises abruptly, his face suddenly pale, his throat tight, as he lurches back to dislodge the Herakan's physical contact on his person.

"What is wrong?" the alien is asking, looking bewildered, but whatever he sees on Spock's face stops him. "I... I apologize if I presumed..." he stammers.

And it is suddenly clear to Spock what has occurred. He has once against caused his bondmate pain, without even realizing what he was doing. A throbbing ache begins at his temples as he waves away the alien's concerned protestations and turns around. He can feel his stomach rolling, his heart thudding, as he feels his body shuddering in sympathy, in understanding, a phantom ache enveloping him, squeezing his insides. He stumbles out of the bar and back to the beam-out location and calls the transporter room.

When he has rematerialized, he asks the technician present at the controls where the captain is, but the ensign does not know. He takes out his communicator and calls the captain but there is no answer. He finally asks the computer for the captain's location and finds that he is in sickbay. His heart thudding, Spock rushes through the corridors, arriving within seconds at his destination, only to find that...

...the captain is sitting on a biobed, looking pale but on the whole undamaged. Dr. McCoy is unsurprisingly cursing and admonishing the captain for eating whatever he did that made him so violently ill. As if he can sense his presence, Jim looks up to find Spock standing at the door. His face is flushed, as if he has a fever.

"Spock," Jim stares at him, his eyes wide. "What are you doing here? I thought... you had... business to attend on the station." There is something in the captain's eyes that Spock cannot quite place. Apprehension. Confusion. Bewilderment, perhaps.

Spock's feels his eyes taking inventory of the captain's face, and he notices the color slowly returning to the pale features. "My business was concluded early. I thus returned to the ship." He looks searchingly at his friend. "I heard... you were unwell."

As his eyes are on the captain's face, he does not notice the strange look the doctor gives him.

"Oh, it was just a stomach bug," Jim gives a weak laugh. "I'm fine now."

Spock looks at him closely. "Are you quite sure?"

"Absolutely." Jim smiles.

Spock watches the captain a moment longer, his thoughts in a conundrum. "I am... relieved to hear that," he says and then nodding at both the captain and the doctor, he excuses himself.

He walks out of the sickbay, his thoughts turbulent, his mind mulling over the event in all its minute details, as he makes his way to Deck 5. The effect the bond has on the captain, whether he blocks it or not, is plainly clear. It is damaging, painful, detrimental to his wellbeing. Spock has done a great disservice to his commanding officer, to his friend, through his selfishness. He has thought only of his own needs. He has focused only on the bond that was broken, was bleeding, was making him hurt. He has not seen the damage he is causing his bondmate through his greed.

By the time, he reaches his quarters, his decision is made. He steps in front of the comm. console, punches in the code, and waits as the call request is communicated via subspace. After a few minutes, the console beeps. He sits down and faces the screen. He presses the button to activate the video.

Sarek appears on the screen, his face curious. "Spock, are you well?"

"I am, Father," Spock replies. He looks at his father for a long moment, his throat tight, his heart quivering at his side. Then he continues, "However, there is a matter I would like to request your assistance with."

* * *

That night, as Jim lies down in his bed, he realizes he is an utter idiot.

He knows now Spock had not gone to that alien with any ulterior motives. He's just recently broken up with Uhura, he won't do that to her. Of course, if his First Officer _were_ looking for companionship, in any other circumstances, as long as he stays discreet, who is Jim to deny him that? Spock has every right to find companionship with whomever so he wishes, on or off the ship. Every fucking right.

Why then does Jim feel like he would rip the head off anyone who dares step towards Spock?

He groans and pulls the pillow over his head.

Damn, his life sucks!

* * *

After the incident on Starbase 321, avoiding Jim becomes harder to do.

The captain appears to be everywhere. He asks Spock to join him for breakfast, for lunch, for dinner, to spar, or simply to talk. It is nothing unusual. They always used to do these things before the incident on Antara. To make things worse, Spock wants to be with him, _all. the. time_. But he also has to avoid him. It is only a matter of a few days now. His father informed him the Healer will be able to see him once they reach Merak II. Until then, he must resist the lure of Jim's mind.

But he also cannot resist. He is drawn to his bondmate, like a moth is drawn to a flame. And he knows he will be consumed. This flame will annihilate him, and he will not be able to stop it from happening.

"How about a game of chess tonight, Mr. Spock?" the captain is standing at his table in the commissary, as he eats his meal. "It's been a while."

Spock looks up at him, his face calm, as he feels a dull throb begin in his head. "I am afraid, I must decline, Captain. There are a series of recordings I must make of the _P-9 component_ as Mr. Scott has found another match for one of the pieces of circuitry involved that leads back to Arkon III." He says, "It would be unwise to abandon the experiment at this critical stage. I will be occupied for several hours."

"Of course, I understand, Mr. Spock." Jim smiles as if he expected this answer. "Perhaps another time?"

"Indeed."

* * *

But later that night, Spock finds himself turning away from his intended destination.

Spock knows he must turn around and walk away. While the readings on the _P-9 component_ he was supposed to take were an excuse created specifically to foil the captain's fifteenth invitation to join him for a meeting unrelated to professional matters, the critical importance of the experiment is not fabricated. And it is only a matter of one night. Tomorrow, they will be at Merak II and it will all be over. Why then is he turning into the corridor that takes him away from Science Lab 2? Why is he stepping into the turbolift and pressing for Deck 5? Why is he turning into the passage that leads towards the senior officers quarters?

Why is he standing in front of the captain's quarters?

As if his hand has a mind of its own, it moves up to press the door chime. It takes only a moment before the door opens.

"Spock!" Jim stares at him, surprise evident on his face.

"Captain." Spock looks at him. "If you are not otherwise occupied, I would submit a request to revise my decision regarding the chess game."

Jim seems to be holding his breath. "I thought you were busy in the Science lab tonight."

Spock tilts his head. "I realized my presence was not required there at this point in time." He looks at the captain closely. "If you are otherwise occupied..."

Jim steps back. "No, of course not, please come in."

It doesn't take Jim long to set up the chess board. Before they sit down, he gets them drinks from the food processor. Vulcan tea for Spock and coffee for Jim, which he says he requires for his concentration.

They begin to play.

And suddenly the pinching pain Spock has been feeling all day is gone. He looks down at his hands and stares at his fingertips. They feel tingly, as if they are itching to touch something. Someone. He watches Jim move a pawn and finds his eyes drawn to the human's hands. He watches how his long fingers wrap around the pawn and lift it and move it to the next spot. He tries to concentrate on the chess pieces, tries to think of a strategy as he is wont to do in a game with the captain, but it is all in vain.

He opens his mouth to speak, but finds himself at a loss for words. He knows he should tell the captain the truth. He _can_ tell him the truth. Jim would understand. Jim, with his abundance of empathy would not fault him for acting as he has. Spock knows he has been irrational, illogical, unreasonable. He should come clean.

But his words are stuck in his throat, and his eyes keep falling to the captain's hands, to his fingers, to the line of muscles prominent under his black uniform undershirt. They linger on the wideness of his shoulders, on the halo that seems to hover over his sand-colored hair that Spock knows is nothing but a trick of light.

And as he watches Jim breathe, his presence hypnotizing to his senses, he feels the scrutiny he himself is under.

He looks down at the chess board and feels his breath catch in his throat.

* * *

Jim finds himself staring at Spock.

He stares at his face, his eyes, his nose, his lips. He doesn't know how he's never noticed before how high Spock's cheekbones are, or how full his lower lip is. How thick and long his eyelashes are. He has never noticed the line of his long throat, or how prominent his adam's apple is as he picks up his cup and swallows the aromatic Vulcan tea he loves so much. He never noticed how brown his big, liquid eyes are. Never saw how perfect his jaw and chin were.

But does... does... Spock look unsettled? There is something in his eyes that is almost fearful, as if he is afraid of something. Why is Spock getting up? What is this inane excuse about going back to check on the experiment? Jim gets up from his seat. He thought the experiment was done for tonight, but Spock is putting his cup away and asking for permission to leave.

It is barely given before Spock is gone. He left so abruptly. He didn't even finish his tea. Did Jim do something wrong? Why did Spock leave? What happened?

Jim suddenly realizes he is painfully hard.

He sits back down on his chair and stares at the abandoned chess set.

He closes his eyes.

* * *

Upon their arrival at Merak II, the planetary authorities request the Enterprise's help in repairing a malfunctioning nuclear reactor, which is crucial to run their atmospheric control units. Jim authorizes Scotty to assemble an engineering team to assist in the repairs and they know they're here for at least the next twelve hours.

Spock, on the other hand, has assigned teams to assist the planet's medical storage facility with processing the supplies they have brought. It is a long, painstaking job, as the cargo they are carrying contains everything from vaccines and anesthezine to surgical equipments and medical scanners.

It is around mid-afternoon that Spock finally catches a break, as he walks out of their cargo hold and heads towards the mess where Ensign Mon, his astrophysics assistant, has proposed a lunch meeting.

"Commander Spock!" someone calls him.

He turns around to watch a Meraki officer approach, a padd in his hand.

"Commander, you forgot to sign off on the last batch of supplies," the alien says. "Supervisor Vorn asked me to get your signature."

Spock feels his eyebrow lift in surprise. "There must be some mistake. I am quite sure I signed all the batches I processed."

"No, I'm afraid you did not sign this one." The alien holds the padd for his perusal. "Look for yourself."

Spock takes the padd from the male's hand and looks down at the screen. It shows the image of a floral arrangement set on a wooden table. Spock looks up at the alien in surprise. "What are you..."

But before he can finish his sentence, he feels something sting him in the neck, and the padd falls from his hand, the world suddenly turning hazy.

The next moment, he's sliding to the ground, unconscious.

* * *

Jim is standing at Uhura's station when the pain hits.

One minute he is standing, looking at the scans Uhura is bringing up, and the next, he is on the deck, writhing in pain, a red hot, blazing wave of searing agony tearing through his skull. He curls into a fetal position as he feels hundreds of sledgehammers slamming into his head, tearing through his brain as a hot all-consuming lava of agony slides through his synapses. He moans, feeling his throat close as his breath get strangled, as he feels as if someone has torn his heart out of his chest as he finds himself gasping, shivering, shaking in agony as his world is reduced to the pain, the hot, burning, terrifying pain that hammers into his senses.

"Spock, _Spock_," he cries. _Please stop the pain, please stop, please..._

"Captain," someone is calling for him but he cannot answer. He cannot answer. He cannot...

_Spock!_

* * *

Nyota is yelling instructions into her mouthpiece, her heart galloping in her chest.

"Ensign Jackson," she says sharply into the comm. link. "Where is Commander Spock?"

"He was just here a while ago, Lieutenant," comes the disembodied reply. "He was talking to one of the medical technicians down here."

"Locate him immediately," she snaps. "There's been an emergency on the ship."

"Yes, Ma'am."

She looks around at the bridge crew and finds all eyes on her, the air thick with tension. She watches Sulu and Chekov exchange a distressed look and cannot blame them. She can't stop her hands from shaking still, and it's been nearly five minutes since McCoy arrived to take the captain to the sickbay. She just cannot stop thinking of the state the captain was in; the distress, the obvious pain.

She cannot stop thinking of how he had called for Spock, moaning that he was in trouble, that they needed to help him, as if... as if his pain was somehow linked to Spock. As if what he was suffering was not just happening to him, but was happening to Spock too.

She has a very bad feeling about this.

The comm. station beeps. "Johnson to Enterprise."

"Report, Ensign."

The ensign stammers, "We... we cannot find the commander, Lieutenant."

Uhura feels her breath stop. "What do you mean?"

"Well... he's missing," Johnson sounds frustrated. "We found his communicator lying outside the storage facility, but he's nowhere to be found. He's... we cannot find him, Lieutenant."

She looks incredulously at the bridge crew, who look stricken at the revelation.

Johnson continues: "Commander Spock has gone missing."

And Uhura feels ice settle in her veins.

**Continued in A Second Chance, Part 3 of 4**


	3. Chapter 3

**A Second Chance, Part 3 of 4**

Spock comes to the awareness of searing, singeing agony.

Someone has drilled a hole into his skull, then affixed what must be a metallic tube to the opening, and is pouring hot, molten lava into his brain. He can feel that blistering, viscous, acrid substance filling his synapses, the lava sliding into his senses with excruciating slowness, bringing with it a scouring, rotting cacophony of whispers; whispers that he has heard before, a long time back when they were directed elsewhere, when he was attempting to save someone else, someone he cared for more than he could even admit to himself, attempting to save them from their vicious, toxic effect, but this time these whispers are directed towards his mind, aimed at his psyche, his thoughts, his memories.

He cannot comprehend anything beyond that agony. He does not know if he is awake or conscious. He does not know if he is alone or in the presence of others. He does not know anything. He just knows the pain, the hurt, the whispers, the lava, and the burning, caustic smell of his brain being broiled alive.

He just knows the pain and knows that he is screaming. He is screaming, and he does not know how to stop. He wants to fight, wants to regain his control, but he's lost in the haze of pain.

And he cannot stop screaming.

He does not know how to stop screaming.

* * *

Leonard has never seen anything like this. And he has seen a lot of weird stuff in his life as a medical practitioner. He knew now that he should not have ignored the nagging feeling he'd been getting for the last few days.

He knew there was more going on to Jim and Spock's Vulcan mind rescue fiasco on Antara than that green-blooded bastard had led out. Why did he not pursue that feeling then? Why didn't he question Spock more? Why didn't he examine Jim more thoroughly? Spock had, knowingly or not, done something to Jim's brain. Hell, half of what his species did with their telepathy was a mystery, not only to him, but to 99 percent of Starfleet medical circles. Most everything about Vulcan physiology was so shrouded in mystery and then wrapped up in that superior Vulcan Code of Privacy, or whatever the hell they called it, that no one in Fleet bureaucracy had the fucking cojones to ever question their rampant secrecy. And if there was anyone more secretive, more tightlipped than their pointy-eared First Officer in the universe, then Leonard was yet to meet them.

And now the bastard had gone ahead and gotten in some kind of trouble, leaving their captain to turn into a fucking basket case.

He watches Jim holding his head in both his hands as he sags forward, and uncontrollable tremors wrack his strong frame, and a long moan, a most pitiful sound that goes straight to Leonard's gut, comes out of his mouth. "_Spock!_"

He holds Jim's left shoulder in one hand as he looks at the monitor, the numbers zigzagging up and down dangerously, feels his frown deepen but keeps his voice gentle as he says soothingly, "What about him, kid?"

"He needs help," Jim sobs, "We must find him, _must find him_."

"Yeah, I know." Leonard sighs. The same mantra, over and over again. Spock needed help. Spock was hurt. Spock was in pain. We must find him. But where the fuck was Spock? And since when did Jim have a direct comm. link into the Vulcan's brain?

"Bones, we must find him," Jim pleads, still bent over in pain, his breath hitching as he curls into himself even further. "Please, he needs help."

"He's missing, Jim," Leonard gives Chapel a look and she surges forward with a tray of hypos.

"_God_, please, he needs us," Jim seems to wilt at his words. "He needs us. He doesn't know where he is. _He needs us_."

"I know," Leonard says consolingly as he removes the cap of a tranquilizer and presses it against Jim's feverish skin. "Here, let me give you this...

And Jim yanks back as if singed by a malfunctioning electric outlet. "_No!_" he howls as he cowers from Leonard's touch, as the doctor tries to grab his shoulder, "...not this, don't knock me out, Bones, you can't." Jim's face is wreathed in outrage, in horror. "I can feel him, I can feel him, _I must feel him_. You can't knock me out, _you can't_..."

"Jim, your blood pressure is going through the roof," Leonard snaps at him. "Your heart rate is too fast. You need to calm down."

But Jim is shaking his head vehemently, his eyes fearful, still backing away from him. "Don't knock me out. Don't do that to me. Don't do that to Spock."

"What the hell is going on here?" Leonard growls. "I knew something was wrong. I knew that sonofabitch did something to your brain when he did that Vulcan hoodoo thing."

Jim looks at him with pained eyes. "He needs our help."

Leonard waves to Chapel and two other nurses as he picks up another hypo from the proffered tray. "Yeah, I know. But you've got to let me..."

Jim screams in anger as he jumps down from the biobed. "No, no, you can't!" He shrinks back from their outstretched hands. "_You can't!_"

"I'm not trying to knock you out, Jim." He moves to hold Jim's arm. "I'm just giving you something for the pain. "

"No, Bones!" Jim shakes his head, his eyes bright with pain as he strikes back at them, his gestures desperate. "I need to feel this. _I have to_. God, Spock!"

But the two nurses grab him from both sides as he struggles to get away, but to no avail. "No!" he screams as Leonard presses the hypo in his neck and releases the contents. "_No!_"

"Jim!" Leonard holds on to his friend's shoulders as he sags in his arms. "Jim!" he says again, as he touches the clammy forehead and looks at the monitor. The numbers are still zigzagging for the moment, the heart rate is still too fast.

Jim is quite for a moment, not answering, his head bowed.

Leonard touches his arm. "Can you still feel him?"

He watches in bewilderment as the captain raises his head to look at him and a single teardrop falls from his eye and makes its way down his pale cheek, watches as Jim gulps and gives Leonard a shaky nod. Jim's face is still twisted but his breath has eased somewhat and the readings on the screen come down a notch. Leonard feels himself breathe a little easier.

They lead Jim back to the biobed and help him on it once again. Leonard has just turned to the monitor when the comm. beeps.

"Bridge to Dr. McCoy." It is Uhura.

"What is it, Lieutenant?" Leonard answers. "I kinda have my hands full here."

"Doctor," Uhura says, "There is a Vulcan shuttle about to dock with the Enterprise. They just arrived moments ago."

Leonard frowns. "Vulcan shuttle? What has that got to do with me?"

"There is a Healer onboard that shuttle whose arrival was in our itinerary," Uhura replies. "He was scheduled to arrive four hours earlier, but his shuttle got delayed. He is here at Ambassador Sarek's request to meet with Spock."

Leonard stares at Jim who is looking at him with a strange look on his face. "But Spock is not..."

Uhura interrupts him, "Doctor, Vulcan Healers work with their people to help them with any problems they might be having with their telepathy." She pauses and Leonard blinks at her words, as realization slowly dawns. "I saw the captain on the bridge," Uhura's voice is quiet. "I think the Healer might be able to... shed some light on what is going on."

He watches Jim swallow heavily and answers, "Lieutenant, bring the Healer to the sickbay immediately."

* * *

There is no physical wound in his head, Spock realizes that now. He realizes that the sensation he had felt previously was his mind's natural hallucinatory response to the sudden plummet his senses had experienced into a realm of pain.

That plummet was the reason why his shields had dropped. He had been taken by surprise, the pain overwhelming him, making him lose control. He knows he must not let it happen again. He must not let his control waver. He has to scale back the walls that had crumbled. He has to put them back up again. He must raise his shields, must keep his control solid. He must not let his bondmate feel his pain anymore. He knows his bondmate became aware of his condition when the shields dropped. He will not make that mistake again. He has to reassert his control.

He knows he is in a room that he cannot assess the size of. He is lying on a structure in the middle of the room, the surface underneath him hard, held in a supine position, with his limbs tied tightly to the four corners. Too bright, too hot, overhead lights fill his vision, blinding him with their glaring, white-hot intensity.

However, while the aperture created into his brain may not be physical, it is no less real.

He also knows he is not alone.

The whispers are constantly there, now louder, more cunning, more vicious, more pointed. He knows why he is here. He is here because somehow, somewhere, in the midst of their investigation about the psionic device, his team found someone who did not wish to be found. Their queries, their digging up of long-buried links and facts has raised someone's hackles, has caused someone some serious discomfort.

_You like poking your noses where they do not belong, Federation. You and your little band of galactic do-gooders. James T. Kirk's minions. You must think him very special, don't you?. Well, we think he's a pathetic, wannabe upstart who just got lucky a few times. Just like you, telepath._ He will not listen to the voices. They are irrelevant.

_Your words have no effect on me_, he says. _You will fail._

_We'll see who's going to fail, telepath. Yes, you are quite special, aren't you? Surviving our experiment on Antara while so many others perished. You must think this is all beneath you. You telepathic types think you can subjugate anyone to your will. That is how you conquer worlds, don't you?_ The voices mean nothing to him. He will not listen to them. They have no power.

_Your logic is flawed_, he says. _You are quite mistaken._

_We will see who is mistaken, telepath. How would you like us to take that superior Vulcan logic of yours and give it a new, perfectly formed, shape? How would you like us to change your telepathic mind, you half-breed freak? _

The voices mean nothing.

He will not listen to them.

He will not...

* * *

Healer Sonok is not at an age when he particularly enjoys many great benefits from travelling long distances in space. He is a hundred and seventy-two years old now. His place is with the other Elders in the _Sor'jang_ sanctuary, spending time in meditation, helping the surviving Vulcans to rebuild his race.

But when Sarek requested that he take a small detour on his way back to Vulcan II from his visit to _Ka'ton_, in order to meet and spend a little time with Spock, he found it illogical to refuse. He has a certain regard for Sarek's boy. He was one of the Elders in the _Katric Ark_ when Spock had arrived to rescue them during the Nero incident. He saw the look on the boy's face when he lost his mother. He was also the one who had assisted the young one in assessing his telepathic controls and reaffirming their adequacy for his continued functioning. Sonok is advanced enough in his years to not feel any impediment in admitting that he... likes Spock.

However, things are not as he had expected on the Starfleet vessel.

The young human female who meets him at the docking bay quickly appraises him of the situation as she takes his few belongings and gives them to another officer to take to his guest quarters. He is discomfited to hear of Spock's sudden disappearance but keeps his face calm as she leads him to the turbolift and through a series of corridors to arrive at the ship's medical facilities. He remembers this trip from the last time he was onboard the Enterprise.

He recognizes most of the individuals inside the medbay as well. He never ceases being curious at how very young this crew is compared to what he is used to seeing from Starfleet. The fair-haired young male he recognizes steps forward to greet him.

"I'm Captain James T. Kirk," the human says and Sonok notices the dark circles under his blue eyes. He gestures to the familiar man standing on his side with a grimace etched on his face. "This is Dr. McCoy, our Chief Medical Officer."

"I am Sonok of Vulcan." He inclines his head. "I was requested by Sarek to meet with Spock. However, it appears there has been some trouble here."

He watches as a look of pain passes the captain's features, as he visibly swallows. "Yeah."

Sonok looks closely at him. "What appears to be the problem?"

Kirk shakes his head. ""I don't know what's really..."

But he is interrupted by the doctor, who scowls at him. "He can hear Spock in his head."

Sonok feels his eyebrow rise up. "I beg your pardon."

The doctor snaps, his voice loud, "I don't know what Spock did to his brain but he's been... in agony ever since that..." he stammers, his anger quite apparent, "that... stupid little..."

Kirk straightens up and glares at the doctor. "He's in pain, Bones. He needs our help. So you can stop pontificating on what he's done wrong because none of us have any idea what the hell's going on."

It appears that Sarek's son is a point of contention between the two officers. Sonok looks at the captain. "You can hear Spock in your mind?"

The human bites his lower lip and looks at him. "Yes."

Sonok asks, "You can hear his thoughts?"

Kirk frowns. "Not exactly." He looks at Sonok. "I just... know that he's hurt. I... can feel that it is him, even though, I can't specifically know what is happening to him." He pauses as a look of pain passes his face but he schools his features to remove any evidence of it. He breathes deeply. "Except that... he's hurt."

Sonok processes this information and comes to a conclusion. He looks at the human contemplatively. "There is only one situation that I know of that would make a connection like that possible."

Kirk looks at him in surprise. "What?"

Sonok looks at both the captain and the doctor with assessing eyes. He then notices Uhura, the female who had brought him to the medbay looking at him. There is a pensive look on her face, as if she sees what he is talking about. The facts presented as they are certainly seem to be pointing towards one conclusion. However, before he can voice his thoughts, they are interrupted by the arrival of another officer.

"Scotty," Kirk asks him, his voice urgent, "what did you find?"

"We've contacted Starfleet command, Captain, and the _Potomac_ is on its way here to join us. I met with the planet authorities, and our security team is also down there questioning everyone," the human male says. "But they haven't found any clues as yet of when and how the commander disappeared. However, we got the ship manifest from the station's dock control center. And I think we hit pay dirt."

Kirk looks at him. "What?"

"One of the ships that was docked to the station grid, abruptly left at the same time Spock went missing. In fact it went to warp within a minute of our discovery."

"What ship?"

"A private cargo vessel, registered to the Daksan Conglomerate. It's seemingly an unattached facility working out of the Vellentian system, but it has a base in several different non-Federation worlds. Guess where one of those bases are?

Kirk stares at him for a moment and then says, "Arkon III."

"Aye sir," the officer says. "Sulu can detect the warp trail going towards sector 138."

Kirk watches him for a few seconds and then takes out his handheld communicator. "Kirk to the Bridge."

"Sulu here, Captain," comes the reply.

"Lieutenant, tell the security team to stay on the planet and continue with their investigations. Then contact the _Potomac_ and tell them of our new findings, and then lay in a pursuit course for the Vallentian vessel, maximum warp."

"Aye sir."

The order given, the captain watches as the officer leaves the sickbay, and then turns to Sonok. "Is there anything you can..." he has only said this before he suddenly doubles over in pain, a choked cry erupting from his mouth.

"Jim!" the doctor moves to grab his arm and Sonok watches as Uhura takes a step forward as if she wants to help the captain as well.

But the captain is already straightening up. "I'm fine, I'm okay," he says as he looks up but his face is tortured. "But he's not, he's..." he breaks off, shaking his head.

Sonok steps up to him. "There is a way I could possibly help you, if you would allow me."

Kirk watches him "A mindmeld?"

Sonok looks at the young human in surprise. "Indeed."

"No!" the doctor says, his tone vehement. "That is what screwed everything up in the first place... when Spock did the mindmeld with Jim on Antara."

Sonok looks at him. "I am aware of that incident, Doctor. That is the reason why I was asked to see Spock in the first place." He looks into the doctor's troubled eyes. "I assure you that I would only attempt to assess the condition of the captain's mind presently. He appears to be in pain that is somehow linked to Spock. We need to find the reason."

The doctor has no answer to that, even though the scowl remains fixed on his face. The captain watches Sonok for a few moments and then nods. "All right." He then looks at Uhura, who is still standing, watching them, listening to the conversation. "Lieutenant, I need you on the bridge."

"But captain..." she begins to protest, obviously interested in watching the proceedings.

However, the look on Kirk's face is firm. "Lieutenant, I need you to go to the bridge and take the conn. Keep an eye on everything and report back to me once you have any update on the Vallentian vessel."

The young female looks at him for a moment and then nods. "Aye captain."

Once she is gone and the medbay doors are closed, Kirk turns to face Sonok.

"All right. Let's do this," he says.

* * *

The pain continues. And so do the never-ending voices, filled with contempt, with hatred, with malevolence.

_Yes, you are quite a half-breed slut, aren't you, Spock?_—they snigger to him. _They call you exotic, but we know what you really are, you filthy, stinking piece of shit. You are nothing but a mutt, a mixed-blood, inferior, ugly, piece of crap that nobody wants._

He must not focus on the pain, only on the shields. The pain does not exist. It is not real. The voices do not exist either. It is all in his mind.

There is a contraption, a netted mask like shape that has been fitted over his face. It has metallic protrusions that touch the surface of his face on his psi-points—his cheeks, his chin, and his forehead. Six points of contact on the most sensitive areas on his facial skin and through those points comes a scorching, piercing, biting blaze of agony.

_Yes we do think your mind is an oddity, telepath_—the voices sneer, their hateful, revolting glee filling his mind. _It works in strange ways, this brain of yours, doesn't it? Oh, but your shields are not really as strong as they would be in a full Vulcan. Let's see what our little equipments can find out, half-breed. Let's see if these little mechanical aids can find a way inside your brain. Your inferior, defective, vile little brain that is neither human nor Vulcan._

He feels the metallic tips of the mask press into his psi-points and feels a hot, burning pain fill his senses. He presses his lips together, unwilling to let another scream out, scrunching his eyes closed just as he attempts to shore up his mental defenses. He will not scream, he will not listen to the voices, he will not let them get to him. _Your attempts to manipulate my mind will fail._

_Oh we'll see how long you can keep this up, telepath_—the voices titter. _We have a lot of time to work out the kinks in our little devices. You are turning out to be a good little testing subject for us._

The voices do not exist. The voices do not exist.

He will not listen to them.

* * *

This meld is different from anything Jim has ever experienced.

It is not an information dump. And it is not a rescue attempt in the middle of a psionic attack. It is, as Sonok mentioned, merely a probing exercise, to assess what is happening inside his head. He feels the Vulcan's presence brushing against his conscience, searching, prodding, looking for something.

_You must let me in._

I am, he says.

_No, you are not. You must let me find it._

Find what?

_The link._

What link?

_The link you can feel in your mind._

I don't know how to look for it.

_You already know where it is. Allow me to locate it._

Suddenly a flare of unbearable pain washes over his senses, and he sees something spark in the distance, as his breath stutters and he feels his throat close with the anguish.

_Rein in your control._

I don't know how, he cries.

_Yes you do. It is the link. You saw it._

And then he sees it with his mind's eye. A soothing, restful coolness that washes over his breath and makes him feel _safe, happy, secure_. It is like a beautifully woven rope of silk-threads that are glittering with cool, bright, white light. Pulsing with energy, a gentle hum of contentment emanating from it, filling his mind, calming his senses.

But that beautiful, silky rope is on fire. There is an ugly, mottled piece of kindling that has started a conflagration at one end of it. And he can see smoke coming out of it. Filling his mental landscape. Making it murky, ugly, suffocating.

It is hurt.

_Yes._

I don't know what it is.

_I do._

They come out of the meld to find Bones watching his face worriedly, a tricorder in his hand.

"Jim," he begins.

He answers, "I'm fine."

Then he looks at Sonok with questioning eyes. The Healer looks at him contemplatively for a few moments, then Jim sees his eyebrow rise.

"I do not understand," the Healer says.

Jim feels himself frown. "What?"

Sonok stares at him. "When Sarek requested my presence to assist his son, why did he not inform me that Spock was already bonded with someone?"

Jim asks him, "What are you talking about?" But he already has a feeling what the Vulcan means.

Sonok asks him plainly, "Have you two not solemnized your bond?"

McCoy asks, a scowl on his face, "What bond?"

Sonok looks at Bones calmly and then he looks at Jim. "You appear to be unaware of its existence. Surely you can no longer deny its presence in your mind."

McCoy's voice rises in volume. "You're saying that Jim and Spock are bonded? As in _Vulcan-bonded_?"

"There is no doubt about it," Sonok replies. "However, it is quite apparent that the bond existed without Captain Kirk's knowledge."

Bones nearly yells, "You mean Spock bonded with Jim without his permission?"

"It would appear so."

"Why, that fucking, green-blooded sonofa-" he stammers.

Jim cuts him off firmly: "Bones!"

Sonok looks at them both. "It could also be possible that the bond was created by accident."

McCoy snaps. "How's that even possible?"

"It could happen if a connection already existed between two minds, and in the course of a traumatic neural injury, an attempt was made to mend the damage, as was the case when Spock formed a telepathic link with Captain Kirk during his rescue mission on Antara from the attack of the psionic device."

Bones looks at Jim and then back at the Healer. "You're saying that in his attempt to rescue Jim, Spock inadvertently formed a bond with him."

"It is possible."

Bones asks, "What is the nature of this bond?"

"Usually, in the absence of a formal bonding rite, the bond formed should be rudimentary at best." Sonok pauses, as his brows furrow. "However, I am surprised to admit that such is not the case with this link. The connection is as strong as any deeply-formed familial bond."

"Familial bond?" Jim looks at him.

Sonok replies, "Vulcans share bonds with those closest to them, their parents, their siblings, their family matriarchs. Their betrotheds."

"Betrothed?" McCoy asks him. "You mean like a fiancée?"

"Yes." Sonok inclines his head. "Vulcan children are linked at a young age to their intended mates. Their betrotheds."

Jim feels his throat get tight. "Does... Spock have a betrothed?"

"He did." Sonok looks into his eyes. "But she perished with Vulcan."

The tightness becomes nearly suffocating. "You're saying... Spock is a widower."

"Crude, but in a manner of speaking, close," Sonok says. "Though, their bond was not yet solemnized into a marital bond, the pain of a broken link is always devastating. This was one of the reasons why Sarek asked me to assist Spock in reaffirming his mental shields after the incident on Antara. Like many Vulcans, his shields had to be reinforced in the wake of his loss after Vulcan's end. The severing of a betrothal link, on top of the loss he suffered when he lost his mother, and with her the telepathic link he shared with her, can be hard on someone so young." He pauses again as he a thoughtful look comes on his face. "It is curious to note, however, whether Spock's mind sought yours as a compatible replacement."

Jim watches Sonok for a moment, ignoring Bones whom he can feel stewing next to him. "Could it be that Spock is not aware of the bond either?"

Sonok looks at him a moment and then replies, "That is not possible. He is very much aware, which is the reason why he is blocking the bond at the moment."

* * *

They are doing something to his fingertips which scorches his mind and yet his body feels terribly cold. He feels himself writhe in the restraints, his breath catching in his throat. His shields drop, he pulls them back up, they drop again.

The pain is a constant presence now but to Spock, it is like being in a fog filled with choking toxic smoke.

_What does your little human captain think of your abnormalities, Spock? Does he find you ... fascinating? Oh you don't really think that, do you? You know he finds you an aberration, an abomination. He must be hoarding a lot of secrets in his mind. How would you like us to get our hands on him, half-breed? You took him from us once, but we could try grabbing him again. We think he might be a bit more useful than you are, a bit more forthcoming once we get our claws into his pathetic little human mind._

He feels something tingle at the back of his mind. Something familiar and warm and safe. He sees a spark of light come alive. He knows that flickering source of energy. He clamps down on his shields to keep it out.

_Stay away_, he wants to whisper, but Spock does not wish for the malevolent ones to find his bondmate. He does not wish for his bondmate to be here at all. He knows they will harm him if they ever got their hands on him. He wants Jim to stay away.

_Ah, what is this... anomaly we see in your mind, half-breed? Is that a link? Where does it lead to? Why don't you show me where it goes? Maybe we can get the one tethered to the other end of this rope and get them to join us. Who is it that you are hiding in your brain, telepath? _

No, he must not let them find his bondmate. He has to keep him safe. He has to keep the walls up.

A new wave of sparking current is sent into his mind, using his fingertips as the conduit, the perfect conducting medium, and he gasps.

Something is wrong. Jim can feel it. He can feel the gap in the link. He can still feel that presence at the back of his mind, but it is getting weaker.

"Blocking the bond? " Jim looks at Sonok. "But I could feel him before."

He needs to get through to Spock. Why is Spock blocking him? Why has he been blocking him all this time? What did he ever do to warrant this evasion? Jim has never felt so confused.

"That is because he is most probably not in an optimal physical state to be able to discipline his mental shields properly," Sonok answers. "But he is unquestionably attempting to block it from you."

"Just as he was blocking it before now," Jim says, his voice bitter. "That's why I didn't feel anything. That's why I wasn't aware of the bond."

"That does seem to be the case." The Healer's eyes are almost sympathetic, as if he knows what Jim is thinking. And considering he was just in Jim's head, he probably can.

"But I could feel him a while back, when the pain started." Jim looks at him. "I didn't know what was going on but... _Oh_." Once again, Jim abruptly cuts off and twists in pain as his eyes scrunch shut in agony. But the pain goes away as soon as it had appeared.

When he opens them back again, Bones is right next to him. "Jim."

He stares at his friend in confusion. "He's gone."

"What?"

"I can't feel him." Jim feels his heart thudding hard. "He's gone. I can't feel him anymore." He looks at Sonok in bewilderment. "Please, help him."

The Healer looks at him and then reaches forward.

* * *

_We know you are hiding someone in your brain, half-breed. But how long are you going to be able to do that? Your captain is not coming for your rescue and you know that._ The voices snigger.

He has to block the bond to keep his bondmate safe. He has to keep the walls up.

_Your attempts to scale down my defenses are... inadequate_, he says. _You cannot... harm me._

_How long are you going to be able to stop us, telepath?_

_As long as I have my last breath._

_Yes, but after that is gone, we will find him. We will take him. What will you do then?_

* * *

It is once again dark in his mental landscape. But Jim is determined. He will not let Spock hide. Spock needs him. He has to find him.

But he can't find that link. He can't find the bond. Where is it?

_He does not wish for you to follow him._

But why?

_That is something you will have to ask him when you find him._

I will. I fucking will have words with him.

_Very well. For now, you must concentrate on that link._

I can't see it.

_It is still there. Right where you left it. Find it and hold on to it._

I will. I won't let it go this time.

* * *

At some point in time, they remove his restraints.

He does not know why they do that. The malevolent presence behind the voices is trying to move him to a new location, trying to take him deeper into the pits of hell. But for whatever reason they have, his bindings are removed. This is their mistake.

He lashes out at them with a ferocity of a _Xelion_ mountain lion. His mind is on fire, the whispers are digging into his brain, the toxic presence of the psionic torture choking his breath. But his Vulcan strength is still nothing to be sneered at. Like a rabid animal, he falls upon them, kicking, punching, striking, his face contorted in agony, his mouth opened in a snarl, his hands curled into fists, he strikes and beats and smashes into bodies crowding him from all sides.

_We will find him_, the voices say. _We will take him. _

His fists close around something long and sharp and metallic which he grabs and stabs into someone's flesh, hears a howl of agony that infuriates him even more. He has to fight them. He cannot let the presence behind the whispers get to his bondmate. They cannot hurt him. They will never get their hands on him. He will not allow this. He has already caused his bondmate too much pain. He cannot let these evil ones use the bond that should have been severed a long time ago to reach his bondmate. He must shield his mind. He must keep Jim away. He will kill them, kill them, _kill them._

_We will take him. What will you do then?_ the voices snigger.

_You cannot touch him_, he says. _You will never reach him. _

He strikes out and kicks at and fights against them. But he is one, alone. And there are too many of them. They surround him from all sides. He feels something pierce his shoulder, slash against his back, cut into his arm, he feels blood gush out of his wounds. Still he fights, still he resists, still he strikes out.

He will not let his bondmate come to harm. He will not let them get to Jim.

He will fight, he will kill them all, _he will kill them all._

He will die before they touch his bondmate.

He will die.

* * *

_You must breathe_—the Healer says. _You must compartmentalize the pain. It does not belong to you. But the bond goes both ways. You can take what does not hurt and send it his way. So that he too can breathe. Tell him he is not alone. Tell him you will find him. Tell him to be strong_.

I'm trying. It is too hard.

_It is harder for him._

I'm losing him.

_He's trying to block you. You must put a wedge in that crack, do not let it close._

He's not letting me in. He's closing it.

_Do not let him block you._

Suddenly, Jim sees that crackle of white-hot, soothing energy. It is getting dimmer with every breath he takes, but he reaches for it with his mental hands and touches the silky strands. The bond flickers at his touch, and Jim closes his eyes, and sends feelings of _love, strength, beauty, happiness, completion, clarity_ through the link. He feels the air sparkle around him, feels himself break through the haze. He sends his strength through the bond.

And in turn the bond guides him.

* * *

_Stop. Do not look for me. I can feel your presence but you should not be here. Do not come after me. You need to be away. You need to be safe. Stay safe, ashal-veh. It is not your place to come running to my rescue. It is entirely my fault._

But he feels his bondmate grab the connection and hold on to it with all his strength.

* * *

"We're going in the wrong direction," Jim says as he comes out of the meld, his face pale. The Healer hovers nearby.

McCoy stares at him. "What?"

"It's a wild goose chase." Jim gets up. "Spock is not on that ship."

Bones frowns. "What are you talking about?"

Jim takes out his communicator. "Kirk to the Bridge."

"Uhura here."

"Lieutenant, I need Sulu to turn the ship around," Jim orders. "We're following the wrong trail."

Both Uhura and the helmsman start speaking together. "Sir? But we're only hours away from the Vallentian..."

"Captain, the ship manifest showed that this vessel was..."

He cuts them both off. "Uhura! Sulu! Both of you, listen to me. Spock is still on the planet. Turn the ship around and get back to Merak II now."

There is a pause for barely seconds, during which Jim holds his breath, before they reply in unison, "Yes sir."

Jim turns to face McCoy and Sonok. Bones looks at him. "How do you know this?"

Jim takes a deep breath and stares at him. "I know."

* * *

The room has been dark for a long time now.

Spock does not know how much time has passed. Hours. Days. Weeks. He is not sure anymore. He is just tired, so tired. Trying to keep his shields up against the whispers, the never ending whispers that just do not quit. He is exhausted.

That echo remains at the back of his mind. Reminding him of that illusion of warmth and protection. But he can no longer see its spark in the darkness of his mental landscape. Not even when he closes his eyes. Or maybe his eyes are open. Yes, it is the room that is dark now, he remembers.

His whole world is dark. _Cold_. He is freezing. Maybe after having subdued him from his frenzied struggle against them, his tormentors have finally left. But they have dropped the temperatures around him, because he feels as if he is suffering from hypothermia. He cannot feel his fingertips anymore. The pain is all in his mind now. The pain is cold, so cold. He would do anything to feel warm again.

All of a sudden, he feels a shift in the whispers, hears them get louder, more jarring, more penetrating, their venom caustic in its maliciousness, its cruelty. Until they are screaming into his head, screaming vicious, accusing, murderous threats. He hears his heart racing in his ears as he writhes in the restraints, his eyes shut tightly against the noise, so much noise, his lips pressed tightly to keep his screams in. _Go away, get away, stop_—he wants to tell them, but they do not stop. _Back away from me, stop, stay away, stay away!_ But they keep screaming and shrieking and howling in anguish, in absolute anger, until he feels as if his ears are going to burst from the screams, the hatred, the loathing, and the disgust.

And then they're gone as unexpectedly and as abruptly as they had begun. The sudden and absolute plunge into silence startles him. The burning, caustic smell that had pervaded his mind-sense also disappears, and he is left with the first clean breath of air that fills his lungs with icy coolness, amidst the buzzing in his ears.

And that's when he feels his bondmate's presence. _No, stay away_, he wants to whisper. But the echo breaks through the ringing of his ears, breaks through the haze, the confusion. _Spock!_ he hears his name called.

_Stay away, you have to be safe_—he wants to say. But he feels enveloped in sudden warmth, as the feeling of absolute and certain safety fills his senses.

_It's all right, you're safe now_, the voice says. _Everything's all right_, it assures.

He opens his mouth to say something, to tell him what he needs, how he feels. But his breath is stuck in his throat and no words come out.

_I've got you_, the voice says, as he is held tight, safe, cherished. _I've got you now_.

And Spock lets himself be carried into the shelter of that promise, as the world falls away and he loses his awareness into a thick, weary fog of oblivion.

**Continued in A Second Chance, Part 3 of 4**


	4. Chapter 4

**A Second Chance, Part 4 of 4**

Leonard feels as if he should be angry at Spock for the stupid stunt he pulled. For the secrets he kept. For all the trouble he gave Jim.

But all he has to do is take one look at him lying on that biobed, and remember the state he was in when they brought him back to the ship, and the anger dwindles. He'd been missing for close to eighteen hours, during which those fucking bastards really had done a number on him. As far as physical injuries go, Leonard has seen far worse even on Spock himself on previous occasions. However, the duration between the point of injury and the moment of rescue was longer and more grueling on this occasion. The overall state he was found in simply far more troubling.

The physical wounds have been taken care of now. The stab wounds on his back, the incisions along his arms, his shoulders, the deep slash in his chest, where he had bled and lost almost two point three pints of blood—all signs of a physical struggle. The bruises on his face from the metal mask that the rescue team had removed and brought back to the ship for study are also gone now. The Healer had seemed particularly troubled to see that injury. That and his hands, most specifically his fingertips, where the aliens had inserted some kind of needles that had severely damaged the nerve endings. Sonok explained the importance of Vulcan hands to him. They are one of the most sensitive parts of their bodies, even more than their facial psi-points. Fingertips are the point through which a Vulcan initiates a mindmeld, to form a mental connection with another being. To have an injured hand, to have one's fingertips with their millions of sensitive nerve endings compromised, even temporarily, is like having your hands chopped off.

Leonard had to place Spock's hands in a regenerative chamber over the biobed to accelerate that repair. While he knew there wasn't going to be any permanent damage, he realized that even after the restorative surgery he'd performed, the complete healing process was going to at least take days, if not weeks.

Not that this particular Vulcan is aware of much anything at the moment. He is out cold, in a Vulcan Healing Trance, according to Sonok. He knew about them, but having the Healer's word that this is a Vulcan body's natural defense mechanism in the face of a traumatic injury, and would aid in the healing process better than any therapy is reassuring. Still it is disquieting to see him like this, his heartbeat so slow, his blood pressure even lower than he would have expected. But Sonok assures him that the trance would help Spock heal both from physical wounds as well as those inflicted on his mind.

Leonard has no cause to doubt Sonok, who is the expert in this case. Spock's brain scans show the ravage those aliens caused on his mental state, with the prolonged barrage of psionic energy and the other insidious, malicious ways they chose to torture him physically. Sonok performed a mindmeld on him immediately after he was rescued and says he had to do it to retain the integrity of his telepathic shields. He says they were shaken during the assault but are intact, though they too will require time to heal completely.

He still doesn't know what Spock was thinking when he decided not to disclose the nature of the mindmeld he'd performed on Jim and the resultant bond that had formed between them. It was clearly an accident, and there should not have been any problems disclosing it. But Sonok alludes to the possibility that their First Officer may not have been acting rationally in the wake of the Antara incident. Also the fact that he did arrange to have the Healer arrive possibly means he was finally ready to do something about it.

As for Jim, he's not saying much. He has spent time with Spock in the sickbay but he's also been busy dealing with Starfleet brass after the whole Arkon III fiasco. Still, Leonard finds him sitting by the First Officer's side from time to time, before he's called out again. The look on his face is always perplexed.

Leonard figures only Spock can answer the questions he has.

* * *

They'd arrested seventeen aliens alive from the underground cell where Spock had been held. Five were killed in the encounter and three bodies were found awaiting burial when they first broke into the facility. Apparently, Spock had given them trouble of his own. There were no casualties on the Starfleet side.

Everything had happened so fast once they'd arrived back at Merak II. They'd run resonance scans of the entire planet, searching for any presence of the psionic signal, and it had taken them a while before they'd detected something at a location in the northern hemisphere, forty-five thousand kilometers northeast of the Meraki central government offices they'd visited earlier. The fact that the cell was buried under a thick layer of rock added to the difficulty of the detection.

As for the aliens, it is not a species anyone in the Federation has ever encountered before. They call themselves the _Kalahans_, a xenophobic race that originates from a planet near the Corian Nebula in sector 342, and which supposedly has been a victim of hundreds of years of carnage at the hands of a telepathic species called the _Yintis_. From this arises their hatred of all telepathic races, irrational as it is. They created the psionic device in conjunction with some of their mercenary contacts and Antara was their first live experiment of the device's effectiveness.

All the while the Enterprise and the _Potomac_ crew had been following the trail of the _P-9 component_, the _Kalahans_ had been following the Enterprise's trail—having set their sights on Spock, who had apparently caught their attention for having survived the psionic device's effects on Antara.

When Jim thinks of everything Spock went through while he was missing, what those aliens did to him, he wants to take a phase rifle and start vaporizing them one after the other.

He is also restless. He cannot feel the bond at the moment, cannot feel Spock's presence. The feeling is unlike the depression he'd felt when Spock had blocked the bond before. This time, he feels a vacuum. Sonok says it is because Vulcan mental shields go up during a healing trance, in order to heal any damage caused and reestablish the telepathic controls, if compromised. In Spock's situation, the damage has gone on for so long, that his controls will obviously take some time to get back to normal. He says Spock would likely stay in a trance at least for the next two days.

Logically, he knows why Spock did what he did with the bond. Why he's been acting so irrationally these past few days, why he blocked the bond from Jim. Spock has been suffering from a delayed PTSD. From the loss of Vulcan, from the loss of his mother, and the severing of his betrothal link. This was months ago, and Spock has been in mental pain all this time.

However, Jim cannot help but feel his heart squeezing at the thought that this was just an accident to Spock. An accident in which Jim became a casualty along with him. Spock never really wanted the bond. He never really wanted Jim. He cannot help but feel a strange, misplaced sense of hurt and betrayal at this. At being shut out of Spock's mind. He did not have it easy while Spock was being tortured. He went through hell himself trying to get through to him via the bond. And every time he tried to find a way in, he faced a wall. A blockage. A closed door.

He needs to get to the bottom of this.

* * *

He comes to awareness slowly.

The first realization to register in his conscious mind is of the lack of pain. No part of his body or mind hurts. No malevolent presence lurks beneath his thoughts. No one is touching him, probing him, scouring his body. He can feel his telepathic shields in place. He takes in a deep breath, and attempts to assess their integrity and knows they are intact, their control nearly complete. He opens his eyes and knows he is in sickbay, lying on a biobed. The lights are dimmed where he is and a complete and utter silence surrounds him.

He detects a movement at the periphery of his vision and recognizes Nurse Chapel noticing his current awake status, and what appears to be surprise mingled with relief shows on her face.

Then Dr. McCoy appears and stands over him, his eyes concerned, and asks him a question but his hearing does not seem to be working yet. He has a pen flashlight in his hand, which he switches on and directs into Spock's eyes to check for autonomic response of his pupils. Nurse Chapel appears by the doctor's side with a tray in hand and the doctor picks up a hypospray and presses it to Spock's neck. He does not hear the hiss but feels as the contents are released into his skin, and suddenly his ears pop and his hearing returns.

"...you feeling?" the doctor is asking him.

Spock tries to tell him he is well, but his throat is too dry and what comes out is no more than a rasp. Another hypo appears and its contents released into his bloodstream and Nurse Chapel brings a glass of water which she helps him sip with the help of a straw.

McCoy looks at him closely. "Do you know where you are?"

Spock wets his dry lips and replies, "I am in sickbay."

McCoy nods and then narrows his eyes. "Can you state your name and designation for me?"

Spock exhales. "I am Spock, son of Sarek, First Officer, USS Enterprise." He looks at the doctor. "I assure you, Doctor, I am in no way suffering from a memory loss."

McCoy looks at him appraisingly. "Then you remember what happened?"

He looks at the doctor closely and then feels his eyes close as he lets himself recall the hazy memories of his incarceration. It all comes back slowly. The voices, the pain, the misery. The metal protrusions touching his psi-points, sending a hot, nauseating wave of agony into his brain. And then it comes to him: _Jim_.

His eyes fly open as he looks at the doctor. "The captain...is he...?"

"He's fine," McCoy interrupts him, as his expression suddenly seems to close off. Spock feels a strange fluttering at his side. He wishes to know about his bondmate but the doctor is looking at him with an expression Spock cannot recognize. "He's busy, but I'm sure you'll see him soon," McCoy's voice is sharp.

He then continues in a softer tone, effectively changing the subject, "Well, the good news is, your readings are mostly back to normal. Your heart rate is 238 bps, which is close to normal, your body temperature is almost back to 91F, which is again good." The doctor's focus is on the monitor. "What concerns me is that... your electrolyte levels are still severely down. You lost close to two point three pints of blood, most of which we replenished intravenously. However, it is not anything that a nice long rest and a few days of regular good meals cannot help."

However, there is a peculiar blankness filling Spock's mind, a void that he should be grateful for, for its lack of feeling and emotion. But it reminds him of that haze, of the fog that had confounded him during his captivity.

McCoy asks him if he can get up and when Spock nods, the doctor presses something on the panel above the biobed and Spock realizes his hands had been held in some kind of a chamber. The doctor expertly pulls open the cover, and removes Spock's hands from it, and then carefully helps him get up and sit upright. He is saying something about regenerative surgery and nerve endings being damaged and healing time required but all Spock can do is stare at his hands with their bruised fingertips.

He notices the Elder's presence in the room, remembers he had felt his presence in his mind soon after his rescue as well, but at the moment he cannot bring himself to focus on him. The Elder comes to stand in front of him, but Spock can only look at his hands. The Elder says something to him about meditation and Spock murmurs something about his shields working adequately. That is correct, the Elder says, but he will still need to meditate, to work on letting his control become absolute once more.

But his fingers are hurt and he cannot even... Spock refrains from closing his eyes, from letting what he is feeling appear on his face.

He will do as the Elder says. He will make his control absolute.

He lets the blankness pervade him.

* * *

Nyota nods to Lieutenant Seltzer as she hands over her station and walks out of the bridge.

The last few days have literally felt like a whirlwind. Members from Starfleet Intelligence arrived two days ago and are currently working with the Meraki authorities to question the aliens captured as well as the crew of the Vallentian vessel seized by the _Potomac_ right at the edge of Federation border, all now being held planetside in a detention facility, to get to the bottom of the _Kalahan_ conspiracy.

In all this time, with the constant barrage of communications from Starfleet and meetings being set up between the captain and the various fleet brass arriving every few hours, Nyota has barely had the chance to go check up on Spock more than that one time when there was a lull in the activity. And now he's back to his quarters, but no one but the Healer has seen him for the past one day.

She wonders how the captain is faring after all that he went through.

She knows now that something happened on Antara, something which caused a bond to accidentally form between the captain and Spock. Christine was being tightlipped about what she'd witnessed between the captain and the Healer when they were in sickbay, but when Nyota told her she knew about the bond—which was a lie, she'd only suspected until then—Christine did not deny it. So now she knows. Why Spock decided to hide that link, she doesn't know. All she remembers is how Kirk was when Spock had gotten abducted, how agonized he appeared. She also remembers how he'd led the team down to the planet to get Spock out of that horrible place, how he'd held him in his arms when they'd been beamed back.

Then she recalls what Sulu had said about how tense Spock had seemed when he'd brought back the captain from Antara.

She thinks she may have her answer.

She just needs time to process this.

* * *

On the second day, when the Elder attempts a mindmeld with him, Spock nearly gets physically ill.

It is the memory of those metal protrusions digging into his psi-points, sending a fire of agony into his brain, that keeps haunting him. He was already in emotional pain, but now he has also been physically damaged. He cannot use his fingertips to meld and just the thought of lifting his shields makes him feel nauseous, throwing him in that pain-memory circle that tells him his bondmate will come to harm if he allows the aliens access to his mind.

Logically, he knows it is over, knows no harm will come either to Jim or himself. But he cannot help but feel crippled, as if he's still in that fog-filled place where there was no tether.

"I apologize, Elder, for losing control," Spock says to the Elder.

Sonok looks at him calmly. "Control can be found again, Spock. You must remember that I have already melded with you once while you were unconscious. The pain no longer exists. Your psi-points were not permanently damaged. Your hands too will heal and then you will once again be able to perform a meld on your own. But you must let me assess the integrity of your mental shields after being in a healing trance."

"I understand." Spock tilts his head. "I will attempt again."

The second time, the meld is successful and the Elder enters his mind with relative ease. But the moment he feels a mental prod at his shields, he feels a panic inundate his senses, a memory of sniggering whispers pushing their hateful, sickening presence into his mind. His mind struck in that memory, of the whispers that wanted to hurt his bondmate, Spock pushes the Healer's conscience away from his mental place, abruptly falling out of the meld.

He watches the Elder look at him gravely. He is still crippled. Still unable to concentrate.

"You are still living in the memory of that pain," Sonok says. "But it would not hurt if you let it heal." The Elder looks at him. "You must let the strength of the bond heal your mind."

Spock feels his fingers digging into his thighs. "No," he replies.

The Healer stares at him impassively for a few moments, and then says, "Your shields are adequate, Spock. But you must lift them to assess the condition of the bond. You have not been able to successfully meditate since you came out of the trance, and that is something you cannot avoid any longer."

Spock stares at him. "I do not wish to assess the condition of the bond."

The Elder stares at him. "You must!"

"The bond is damaging to him," Spock tells him. "It has caused him pain."

"You are mistaken," The Elder says. "The bond has a soothing presence. It heals. Once the bond has been stabilized, it will not hurt."

"It was formed without his knowledge," Spock says. "Without his permission."

"That was an accident. He knows of its existence now," the Healer states.

"Yes, it was an accident," Spock says. "And thus it must be dissolved."

Sonok stares at him solemnly. "That is a decision you cannot make alone. Your bondmate must be conferred."

Spock looks at him, his throat convulsing, and replies, "He will be."

* * *

Jim has just finished a meeting with the Meraki officials on the surface when an officer with Starfleet Intelligence requests to speak with him.

"One of the aliens is asking to speak with you, Captain." the officer, a Lieutenant Marcus tells him, looking perplexed. "He's one of the _Kalahan_ underground leaders that your team captured from the cell. We've been questioning him for the past two days, but he specifically asked for you, saying he had something to tell you."

Jim looks at him in surprise. "Why me?"

"We have no idea, Sir," Marcus answers. "We've been putting him off but he's insisting he has a message for you."

"Where is he?"

Marcus gestures to a passage. "In the detention facility, right this way."

Jim follows the officer through the pathways of various corridors and passages, passing Starfleet Intelligence representatives and Meraki officials moving about, armed guards standing at attention, the security tight in the wake of the severity of the situation. After a few minutes walk, they arrive at the detention facility. All aliens captured are being held in separate cells and Jim is led to a chamber at the end of the passage, where he sees the _Kalahan_ sitting on a bench affixed into the wall, his silver white hair shining in the overhead light.

The pink gaze turns to him as he stops in front of the forcefield. "Captain James T. Kirk," the _Kalahan_ says, a strange smile appearing on his face, "we finally meet."

Jim stares at him. "What do you want?"

"What?" The alien looks innocently at him. "Aren't you going to exchange pleasantries first? My name is Molta."

Jim takes a deep breath. "Look, if you have something to say to me, then do it. I don't have time to waste."

"Oh, how rude of you." The browless eyes blink at him. "Your First Officer seemed to think so very highly of you. But you have no manners."

Jim feels his lips press closer. "What the hell do you want?"

"I just wanted to see the man who had such an impact on the telepath we captured," Molta says. "He got into a little trouble while he was in our custody, you see. I was concerned he hadn't survived our hospitality."

Jim feels the stirring of that anger that always hits him whenever he thinks of these aliens and what they did to Spock. "You are not going to get away with this crime," he tells the alien. "You will pay for everything you did."

"It does not matter," the alien sneers. "Our experiment has been a success beyond anything we could've expected. Our technology works not only on non-telepathic minds, it actually renders telepaths absolutely helpless against the barrage of our controlled psionic energy." The smile turns ugly. "What we reduced your half-breed to is a testament to that claim."

Jim feels himself freeze. "You failed with him. He did not break. He fought back."

"Did he?" Molta laughs, his tone derisive. "Oh, but I seem to distinctly remember how pathetic he became, how weak he was, how absolutely despicable in his attempts to fight back." The alien looks into Jim's eyes. "All we had to do was take one name: yours, and there he would light up like a Polwari firecracker, lashing, screaming, _crying_ in pain."

Jim feels his heart pounding as he turns to leave. "I don't have time for this shit."

"Why, Captain..." the alien calls out to him, "he found it so overwhelming, he even tried to _kill_ himself."

Jim freezes. He turns to look at the alien. "What?"

"Oh, don't tell me he didn't tell you," the alien jeers. "He was so wretched, so pathetic. Did you really think he was trying to get away from us? Did you really think he could fight us?"

Jim growls, "He did fight you. Three of your people were killed."

Molta laughs. "It was a suicide attempt, Captain. He wanted to die."

"You're lying."

"He was so desperate, so pathetic, so weak," Molta mocks. "At the absolute end of his rope."

"You're lying."

"Am I?" the alien looks at him. "Why don't you ask him yourself then?"

Jim turns around and walks out of the detention facility, his thoughts caught in a tempest. It is a lie, a fucking lie. The alien was just trying to rile him up. Give him a mindfuck. Spock could not have tried to kill himself. He is not suicidal. He has been upset, going through a trauma, but he is not suicidal. He may not have wanted the bond with Jim, but he could not have tried to kill himself. _No._

Jim hears a beep on the padd he's carrying in his hand. He looks at the screen. It is a message indicator, telling him he has a priority message on his personal console in his office. He sees the sender. It is Spock. Feeling his brows come together, Jim punches in the code to access the message remotely. With a beep, the console retrieves his inbox list with the waiting message. Jim looks at the subject line.

_Request for Resignation from Starfleet_

And curses.

* * *

Spock is alone in his quarters, when his door chimes.

He has been putting his things away, getting his affects in order, for the past one hour. He has been waiting for this visit since he filed his request with Jim for approval. He knows this is the only thing he can do. After everything he has done, all the lies he has told, he cannot be here anymore. He cannot be here. The bond has to be dissolved. Even if the thought fills him with dread, makes him ache inside, this is the only thing he can do. He has hidden it for too long, caused too much damage. Everything needs to come out now. He needs to come clean.

He walks to the door, takes a deep breath, and presses the panel to open.

Jim stands staring at him with a cold, incredulous anger on his face. His lips are pressed tightly together, his face enraged, his eyes a cold sky blue. He holds up a padd in front of Spock. "What the fuck is this?"

Spock sees the resignation request he had sent open on the screen. He swallows and begins, "I must apologize, Captain, but I can no longer continue my duties aboard the Enterprise, or in Starfleet, as I have been... emotionally compromised."

Jim's lips press even closer, as he suddenly moves, shoving Spock aside hard as he stalks inside the quarters. The doors close behind him. "Don't fucking 'Captain' me now." He snarls as he whips around to face Spock, his eyes burning. "And this is _unacceptable_. I won't accept this."

He is angrier than Spock has ever seen him. His anger is completely warranted.

Spock puts his hands behind his back, trying to reach for that inner calm he so needs. "You cannot deny my request. It is in the best interest of the ship that I leave." He swallows again. "It is also in the best interest of your wellbeing that I am far away from you."

Jim glowers at him. "Yes, because everything you've done so far has been in my _best interests_, hasn't it?"

Spock feels his throat tighten. "I have lied to you. I have deceived you."

"So your solution is to run away?" A look of contempt appears on Jim's face. "I never took you for a coward, Spock." He looks at him. "What about the _bond_?"

Spock blinks, feeling a tingle at the back of his throat. "I have requested the Healer to assist in the process of..."

Jim cuts him off, his eyes furious. "...the process of ripping it out of my mind?"

His heart squeezing at his side, Spock stares at him. "It is for the best."

"Is it?" Jim grits his teeth, his nostrils flaring. "Yes, it must be. You seem to have all the answers, don't you, Spock?" He grimaces. "And today is a day of revelations for me." Something painful passes through his features. "I just had a conversation with that _Kalahan_ who'd captured you, and I found out that... that those injuries we found on you after your rescue were actually self-inflicted."

Spock feels his brows come together. "No."

Jim's eyes are shining, his face set in a scowl. "Did you want to be away from me so badly? Was my presence in your mind so reprehensible that you'd rather die than be bonded to me?"

Spock stares at him as the words register in his mind. "That is not the truth."

"Don't you fucking _lie_ to me now, Spock!" Jim yells, as he suddenly smashes the padd held in his hand against the wall behind Spock who hears it shatter into pieces, Jim's face turning livid, his breath coming out in furious gasps.

Spock feels the barrage of his bondmate's wrath hitting his senses and struggles to breathe. "I am not."

"You've been lying all _along_," Jim shouts. "You've been keeping this _bond_ from me, you've been fucking blocking me."

Spock feels the tightness in his throat grow even more constricting. "Yes."

"I had no say in getting linked to your mind, and now I don't get any say in getting _ripped out_ of it?" Spock notices Jim's hands shaking. "I have no fucking say?"

Spock's heart is thudding wildly in his side. "I have acted towards you in the most grossly violating manner."

Jim's eyes are accusing. "Yes, you have. But it was my presence that was vile to you, wasn't it?" There's pain in those eyes, betrayal. "You find _me_ vile, you find me _gross_, the violating presence."

Spock steps forward, his breath stuck in his throat. "No."

"That's why you want me out," Jim cries. "That's why you couldn't bear to let me know about the bond, couldn't bear to even talk to me."

The words are like a stab into Spock's side. "No."

Jim's eyes are shining with unshed tears. "That's why you tried to kill yourself!"

Spock looks into his bondmate's tortured features and tries to explain, "They are misleading you."

"Just like you mislead me?" Jim grinds out. "That's what you've been doing all along, Spock. _Misleading me_!"

Spock feels a weight on his chest, his breath hitching. "I have committed a gross error."

"I know you didn't want this." Jim bites his lip. "I know this bond was an accident to you. I know you would never have chosen this for yourself." He snarls. "But was the... prospect of being linked to my mind so hateful, so... disgusting to you that you'd rather die than be bonded to me?"

"No!" Spock suddenly shouts. "I did _not_ try to kill myself." He looks into Jim's eyes. "I was trying to... keep them away from _you_. I would never let them touch you again, Jim. I would destroy anyone who tried to hurt you." He stares at his bondmate, his tone pleading, as words stumble out of his mouth, unstoppable. "I would never let _anyone_ hurt you. You have been hurt enough already. I have caused you pain unlike anything you have ever experienced. You will _not_ be harmed again, Jim. I will not allow it."

Jim stares at him. "Spock..."

Spock continues, "You kept looking for me. You kept trying to reach out to me. I did not want you to come to my rescue, Jim." He stares at him. "I did not want you to get hurt. They were going to hurt you."

"They lied, Spock." Jim's voice has suddenly turned soft. "You're the only one they hurt, not me. And you had been hurt for so long."

Spock shakes his head. "Not after everything I made you go through. Not after the way I violated your mind, and then hid the truth from you."

Jim looks at him. "Spock."

"I should have told you the truth," Spock admits. "I treated you in the worst way possible. I lied to you, kept the bond from you. When you had every right to know of its existence. "

Jim takes a step closer. "Spock."

"I did not want them to find you, Jim," he explains, his throat closing. "I would have done everything in my power to keep them away from you. I was going to kill them," his voice breaks. "Or die trying. I would have rather died than let them touch you."

"Spock."

He stares at his bondmate's face, his beautiful eyes sparkling with something he cannot yet fathom. "I cannot... do this anymore, Jim," he murmurs.

He watches Jim raise his hand and touch a finger to a spot under Spock's left eye and Spock realizes his face is wet.

"Spock," Jim's voice is stunned. "You're crying."

"No." Spock stares at him. "Vulcans... do not cry."

Spock watches in amazement as Jim brings his hands up to cradle his face. "Spock, look at me." His eyes probe Spock's, as if he is looking into the very depths of his soul. "I need you to look into my mind and see everything that I feel, and I need you to show me what's in your mind." Spock feels the coolness in those hands seep into his skin. "Don't hide from me anymore. Lift that block, let me see."

He stares at Jim, his heart hammering, his throat tight. He has fooled himself long enough. He cannot do this anymore. He can no longer block Jim's feelings from himself.

So for the first time in weeks, Spock allows himself to feel. He lifts his telepathic shields completely, and allows himself to receive everything his bondmate is feeling. All the anger and rage and pain and agony and heartache. It washes over his senses like a wave crashes onto the jagged face of a rock. It drenches his senses, his mind, his soul. All the hurt that he has caused, that he has allowed to settle in his bondmate's mind, because of his own doubts and insecurities and fears. All that pain that he had only gotten hints of until now, but which is suddenly all over him, as his eyes close and wave after wave of emotions slam into him. He feels the need to slide down to the floor but somehow manages to stay upright, catching the crest and fall of the crashing waves of sensation, deluging his mind, his thoughts, his body. So much pain, so much hurt, all because of him. _Spock!_ He hears Jim call out to him. _Look at me. Let your shields down. Let me see you_. He feels his hands taken in cool human ones, their fingers entwined, his healing nerve endings buzzing with the energy of the aura that surrounds his bondmate. He takes a deep breath and reaches for that place inside his mind where their bond resides. And he reaches through the bond and allows everything he has ever felt for his bondmate over the past three weeks—all the _longing_ and the _doubts_ and the _protectiveness_ and the _fears_ and the _love_, and everything he has ever felt for his friend over the past eight months—the _respect_, and the _loyalty_, and the _camaraderie_, and the ever-growing _affection_, to flow into the bond. He feels Jim slide closer to him, feels his bondmate's breath wash over his face and breathes him in, deeply, keenly, letting the weight of his fingers rubbing against Spock's carry them both into that mental landscape. And there he sees the bond, its energy glowing beautiful colors in this place—it is stronger than ever, as if lifting his shields and letting his bondmate's emotions through have somehow rejuvenated it, have given it new life. Its warmth and beauty astounds him as he hears the hum of its pulsating aura drench his senses in healing energy. He sends everything he has ever felt that the Vulcan part of him would never admit to existing, but which is there nonetheless. His admiration for Jim as a captain and as a friend, his high regard for his intellect, his wit, his intelligence, his appreciation for his exceptional leadership skills, his courage, and his charisma. And his attraction to both his mind and body. The feelings that had started to grow after the bond was formed, but which always had a basis on what he had already felt for Jim. And then the wave turns and he is drenched in feelings of _love_ and _compassion_ and _acceptance_ and _gentleness_ and _adoration_ and _safety_ and _harmony_ and a heartrending _sweetness_. And now he does slide down to the floor, overwhelmed by the outpouring of warmth and affection and love and understanding from his bondmate.

For the first time in weeks, Spock knows that Jim wants him. Jim had wanted him all this time but because he was blocking the bond, he never found out. What a fool he has been. What an absolute fool.

When his eyes open, he finds their arms wrapped around each other, their legs entwined, their mouths joined in the sweetest kiss he has ever tasted. They are on the couch, and he has no recall of how they got there. His shirt is halfway off and one of Jim's cool hands is dragging over his bare back while the other holds his head as he feels shivers run through his entire frame. He touches the muscles in his bondmate's shoulders, feels their wiry, masculine strength so different from a female's, feels Jim's erection pressing against his thigh through two layers of cloths and himself grows hard at the sensation. This is new to him. Spock has never been with a male. But he needs Jim, has wanted Jim for what feels like forever. He needs his bondmate anyway he can get him.

"Please," Jim murmurs against his lips, as he pulls his shirt off the rest of the way, his eyes raking over Spock's body hungrily as he hovers over him, the blue of his irises almost obscured by the black. "Please, I need to..."

"Yes," Spock says, as he grabs Jim's shirt and pulls it off his frame. They come together again, both naked to the chest as their lips meet once more, their tongues wrapping around each other as they taste each other eagerly. Spock's skin feels over-sensitized wherever he touches Jim's, and he feels goose bumps form over his arms as he holds his bondmate close, his heart pounding at his side. He feels Jim's fingers sink into his hair as their teeth clash.

"I need to taste you," he hears Jim say and groans as he is pushed on his back and Jim lifts his mouth from his, only to lower it to his neck where Spock feels sweet kisses and sharp nips mark their way down his throat. He feels Jim's hands drag from his neck to his shoulders down to the length of his arms until his fingers are entwining with Spock's again, as he kisses down his chest and then sinks his face into Spock's chest hair, groaning loudly as he nuzzles into it. "God, you're so beautiful," Jim moans as he nips first one and then his other nipple, making Spock writhe helplessly.

Such affection, such lust, he is unused to this. No one has ever treated him with such hunger, such passion. "Jim," he sighs, as he feels his erection press against his sweatpants, as Jim nips at his chest muscles, making him shudder in response.

Jim moves downward, leaving cool, wet kisses down his stomach as he laves his tongue into his navel, and then grabs the belt of his pants and pulls it down his hips. Spock had not been wearing underwear, and his erection springs out against his stomach, heavy and thick and wet with its natural lubrication. "Christ," he hears Jim murmur and looks down to catch a reverent expression on his face. "So beautiful, so fucking beautiful," his bondmate says as he reaches out to run a finger along his length and Spock feels a jolt run down his body as he lets his head fall back, unable to watch.

He feels Jim's hands enclose his erection, feels the blunt thumb caress his length before the grip tightens and he feels an incredible wetness enclose the head of his penis. He lifts his head and looks down in wonder, his heart thudding fast, to find his bondmate's mouth wrapped around his head and thinks he is going to explode. He moans as he feels the cool, wet tongue run up and down his length over and over, tasting him and kissing him and he closes his eyes again as he feels his head once more enclosed in that cool, wet mouth. He has had fellatio performed on him before but never with such devotion, such prolific enthusiasm. Jim hums around his length, as his tongue licks from the bottom of his length to the tip, where it swirls around the head, making Spock groan, and then back down again. He feels his hips jerk erratically once, twice before he is gripped in strong hands and held down firmly and Jim takes his length all the way in until he can feel it touch the back of his throat.

And he erupts, ejaculating copiously, still caught in his bondmate's mouth, as a long groan emits from his mouth. He falls back on the couch, as he feels his breathing slow down, his heartbeat gradually coming back to normal. After a while, he feels Jim release his softening length from his mouth and slide up to wrap his arms around his waist, as his mouth fits around Spock's once more. He tastes himself on his bondmate's lips and realizes he likes this combined taste: Jim and himself mingled together.

They kiss slowly, as Spock runs his hands unhurriedly up and down Jim's back, his muscles hard under his touch, as he feels his bruised psi-points pulse against his bondmate's skin. The doctor estimated complete recovery in three point two weeks, but Spock can feel a spark of sensation even now as he touches his bondmate's skin. Jim drags his hands up his body to sink his fingers into Spock's hair and then runs them so softly, so gently, so tenderly through his strands, his pads slowly rubbing his scalp, that Spock feels as if his bones would melt. Jim settles against him, his face resting in the crook of his neck, and Spock feels his heart flutter in his side.

He touches his hand to his bondmate's neck, then to his hair, as he rubs his nose against his forehead, his touch suddenly tentative. His thoughts are awhirl, his mind in a conundrum at the complexities of human emotion. He feels that sense of protectiveness and warmth from the link spark against his consciousness, and exhales into his bondmate's hair.

"I cannot believe you tried to hide this from me," Jim murmurs against his neck.

Spock looks at him, takes a deep breath. "And yet... you treat me with such compassion."

Jim stills, turns to face him. "Spock. You were hurt, all right? You had been hurt for a long time. I can't even imagine the pain you've been living through, all these months." He looks at him. "I can't."

"I am Vulcan, Jim," Spock says. "I am not supposed to lose control."

"You're also human." Jim looks straight into his eyes. "Humans can lose control when they are hurting."

Spock looks into his eyes. "That is not an excuse to lie."

"No, it isn't." Jim says then looks at him closely, his eyes serious. "Spock, tell me one thing." He swallows. "Do you... want this? I know this was an accident for you." He looks confused, his eyes anxious. "And you already had something with Uhura. So if this isn't something you want... if... the Healer can..." he stammers, "if you wanted to..."

Spock stops him by gripping his shoulders to bring him against him as he presses his lips to Jim's mouth. He holds Jim tightly, his fingers digging into his shoulders hard enough to leave marks as he kisses him hard, his tongue dipping into the cool human mouth, laving over his teeth, his gums, dueling with his tongue, sucking in his breath, until his bondmate is moaning, his whole body trembling with want. Spock lifts his mouth from Jim's and stares into his eyes darkened with lust and moves his hands to his beautiful face, his thumbs rubbing Jim's cheeks reverently.

He speaks softly, "I know I have caused pain to more than one person here." He presses his lips to Jim's mouth and holds his gaze. "But... what I feel for you... I find myself unable to express through words. All I know is that the thought of being without you is... most excruciating." He swallows hard. "I am sorry I have given you reason to doubt me, but that is the truth."

Jim's eyes are wet. "Spock, I..."

"Jim, if you would give me a second chance," Spock says, his throat tight as he stares at his bondmate, "I would like to _show_ you what I feel for you."

Jim stares at him a moment, his throat convulsing, and then nods.

So Spock pushes him down on the couch and hovers above him, as he runs his eyes from his face, the expression in Jim's eyes expectant, to his neck to his wide shoulders to his chiseled chest to his flat stomach which he sees quiver with anticipation. Then he leans down to kiss him softly, slowly, letting himself explore Jim's mouth with tender, lingering strokes of his tongue as he slants his mouth against him, making Jim moan. Then he leaves his mouth and follows the path his eyes had taken over his bondmate's body, but this time with his own mouth, slowly, almost shyly, a little awkwardly, he moves from Jim's lips to his chin to his neck and into the hollow of his throat, which he laves lovingly, his tongue running over the pulse he can feel flicker under his bondmate's skin. He grips Jim's hands in his own, their finger intertwining, as he slowly slides down his taut, muscular frame, kissing and learning every inch he passes, pressing his nose into his skin as he inhales his bondmate's scent, slowly licking, laving, dragging his teeth down his body, until Jim is writhing in his arms.

"_Please_," he hears his bondmate moan, as Spock reaches his stomach and presses kisses into his navel. His eyes follow the trail of wiry hair disappearing inside Jim's trousers, and then he unsnaps the button and lowers the zipper, watching his bondmate's erection tenting the fabric of his white regulation briefs. He feels Jim's eyes on his every movement as he grips the hem of the briefs and slowly lowers them off Jim's hips and watches as the erection pops out from between the opening. He looks at the long, thick column of flesh, flushed with blood and dripping pre-ejaculatory fluid, and feels blood fill his own face. He splays his hands on Jim's stomach as he watches the very hard organ, not unlike his own, and feels his mouth water. "Spock," he hears his name called and looks up to see an anxious expression on Jim's face. "If you... don't want to..." Jim says, then pauses, and Spock knows he is being given a chance to decline if he so wishes. He looks down at his bondmate's penis, and notices it has wilted a little, and suddenly his mind is made. He snags his fingers under the belt of Jim's trousers and slides them, and the briefs, completely off his hips and legs. Then he grips Jim's thighs and pushes them open, and lowers himself between them. He reaches out to touch his bondmate's erection and sees it jerk as Jim groans. Spock grips the bottom of the erection experimentally, feeling its heat in comparison to the rest of Jim's body, and reaches down to put his lips to the hard, throbbing flesh. The touch is barely registered before Jim is twisting as though an electric current has passed through him, his moans loud and wanton.

So Spock grips his bondmate's hips in his hands as he opens his mouth to fit it sideways along the erection's length, and lets his lips drag up as he soaks in the taste of the throbbing flesh, the pungent smell filling his nostrils not unpleasant in the least. Jim moans as Spock wraps his tongue around the column, tasting his bondmate's essence, letting it fill his senses, as he realizes he himself is getting hard again. He feels his bondmate reach down to grip his free hand as he nuzzles the hard flesh, nosing the wiry, dark hair surrounding it, and then suddenly freezes as he realizes his fingers are surrounded by a wet, coolness. He looks up at his bondmate and sees him sucking on Spock's fingers and groans at the sight of it, at the sensation of the wet, probing tongue lapping at his digits. His penis is suddenly fully erect, and he pulls his gaze away from that delectable sight with difficulty as he tries to focus on his bondmate's erection which is twitching in the grip of his other hand. He presses a kiss along the thick vein and then rises up to press the tip of his tongue to the engorged head, but that is as far as he gets as suddenly, Jim's body arches and his penis jerks and releases pulses of ejaculate—some of it falling on Spock's face as he attempts to catch it into his mouth. With a long drawn out groan, Jim falls back on the couch, his breathing loud and harsh in the stillness of the room. Then just as abruptly, Jim reaches down to grip Spock's shoulders as he drags him up and holds his face in his hands as he kisses Spock over and over. Repeatedly, Jim runs his lips and tongue over Spock's mouth, as he kisses him, and then over his chin and cheeks as he cleans his face of the ejaculate, all the while moans emit from his mouth and he thrusts helplessly against Spock, his penis twitching again as if one orgasm is nowhere near what he needs, what he wants. And it is not nearly close to what Spock needs either.

Spock runs his fingers through Jim's soft hair, as he stares into the blue eyes. "You are the most beautiful being I have ever encountered," he murmurs, hears Jim groan at his words. He touches his fingertips to his bondmate's psi-points, knows a true meld cannot be performed, but he can still feel the energy of the bond buzzing underneath his damaged nerve endings. He can feel the warmth pulsate through the link that is always there, the link he has no reason to block anymore. He holds his bondmate's face in his hands as he lowers his mouth to kiss him, deeply, lovingly, tasting their mingled essence on their dueling tongues. Feels his erection digging into Jim's hips as he cannot help but thrust into the vee of his bondmate's thighs. "Jim," he sighs, as he kisses his face and nose and mouth, and rakes his teeth over his chin, as he feels Jim's fingernails dig into his back. "I need you inside me," he hears Jim say and lifts his head up to look into his eyes. "I do not know how," he says. In answer, Jim wraps his legs around him and squeezes him tightly in his grip, his pupils almost black with need.

"Let me show you," he says. And then Spock watches as his bondmate pushes him up until he is hovering over Jim. And then he reaches down to hold Spock's erection in his hand, making Spock gasp, as he rubs his fingers over the sensitive head, coating his fingers in the leaking pre-ejaculate. And then Spock watches in amazement as Jim pulls his legs up and splays them open before his eyes, and Spock finds his gaze sliding to the tight, puckered opening of his bondmate's anus. He watches as Jim uses Spock's pre-ejaculate to ease his fingers into his opening, first one then a second, watches as Jim pushes the fingers all the way in, and then pulls them out, and then back in again, until he is panting in need. "I need you, I need you," he moans as he repeats his actions a few more times, before Spock reaches down to grab Jim's hands and pull them out. He then coats his own fingers with his pre-ejaculate and slowly, achingly, enters one and then two fingers into the human's tight opening. The velvety channel grips his fingers snugly, as he attempts to loosen the opening, his eyes on his bondmate's face to catch any sign of pain, as he scissors his fingers inside, until Jim is arching up and moaning, "_Please, now_." So Spock pulls out his fingers and holding Jim's legs up and apart, he carefully aligns the head of his penis to Jim's opening and slowly pushes in. The ring of muscle that grips his head is too tight, too small, and Spock is unsure how he will ever be able to work himself entirely inside. That thought has barely crossed his mind when Jim suddenly reaches down to grab his hips with both hands and then hastily, with a quick and harsh jerk of his hips, has pulled Spock all the way in.

Spock cries out as he feels the heat and the tightness of his bondmate's core suddenly surround him. "Move," Jim moans, as his fingers dig into Spock's hips, his face contorted with pleasure. Spock looks down at the point of their joining, his eyes wide, runs his hands up the backs of Jim's thighs until he can grip his bondmate's ankles, and then he starts to move. His eyes locked onto Jim's, he leans down to kiss his mouth and feels Jim's teeth drag against his lips, his bondmate's erection once again hard and poking into his stomach.. He reaches up with his left hand to touch Jim's face, his fingers against the psi-points, feels the bond pulse underneath, as with his right hand he presses Jim into the couch and slams into him, harder, faster, his movements jerky, fervent, desperate. He feels Jim's fingers dig into his back, feels his nails rake his skin and moans against his bondmate's throat as his fingers dig into Jim's psi-points. And he closes his eyes and reaches for that place inside his mind, sees the bond, hot and pulsing with energy, thrumming against his senses, alive, dazzling, achingly beautiful. He reaches for its multihued strength, its potent brilliance filling his mind, and watches as its shiny, silken threads erupt into a sudden fusion of colors and sparkling light that wrap themselves around them both, inundating their senses, their minds, their hearts beating in unison. And with that he comes, his hips jerking against Jim's body again and again, his mouth open in a cry, as he empties himself inside of his bondmate, feeling Jim's ejaculate sear his skin, as his bondmate's moans fill his ears.

He tries to keep his eyes open after that. Tries to focus on his surroundings. But he's wrapped up in a cool embrace, a satiated hum thrumming against his senses, as a beautiful lassitude fills him.

The last thing he remembers is the feel of his bondmate's lips moving against his forehead.

Before he falls asleep.

* * *

Jim wakes up to the awareness of a heavy, warm weight lying on top of him.

He opens his eyes and looks around. They are lying on the couch in Spock's living room. His mind is clear for the first time in weeks. He figures it has something to do with the fact that Spock is in his arms, his expression open, unfettered, his strong arms wrapped around Jim tightly, even in sleep, as if he cannot let him go even now. But Jim knows this feeling goes beyond the physical, is a part of his mind. The bond is no longer closed to him. He can feel its loving, heartrending presence fill him to the brim. Its incredible warmth permeates his being, letting loose a sense of safety and belonging that fills his senses.

Jim gently runs his fingers over Spock's dry, warm skin and feels a surge of protectiveness and affection for his beautiful, mysterious lover as he mulls over everything Spock has gone through over the last few months. His planet's destruction, his mother's death. The loss of his betrothed, leading to the pain of the broken bond. Then the accident on Antara, and the irrational fear that Jim would reject him, would reject the bond. All those decisions he made based on that erroneous belief. And then getting abducted and tortured by those same aliens and nearly getting killed in the process. And then wanting to leave because he thought Jim didn't want him. So stupid. So fucking stupid.

Jim would never let him go. Jim cannot bear the thought of letting him go. He knows it's not just the bond. What he feels for Spock started somewhere earlier, at the onset of their mission. It has only grown into something stronger, something solid, during these long months in space. He loves Spock. He has never felt like this for anyone.

The bond is open to him now. He knows of the fears Spock had. He knows the fears those aliens fed on as they tortured him. But there is no doubt in his mind of how Spock truly feels for him. There is no block on his feelings, no shields hiding Spock's emotions from him, no closed door. There is a gentle hum of protectiveness, harmony and satisfaction permeating his senses. He is wanted. He is loved. He will be protected and kept safe, always and forever.

Spock's got him now, the bond tells him. He will never let him go. Never.

Jim feels Spock stir as he comes to wakefulness and soothes his back with a stroke of his hand. He feels eyelashes flutter against his throat as Spock blinks. He tightens his arms around his lover and kisses the side of his face, dragging his teeth over the tip of that delectable ear. Spock's face tilts up and he finds himself staring into warm, brown eyes.

"Hey," he greets him, feeling his lips turn up in a smile.

"Good morning," Spock says, his face solemn, his lips looking softer than he's ever seen them.

"How're you feeling?" Jim asks him, bringing his hands up to smooth Spock's hair. God, he loves his hair. They're so soft, so luxuriously thick. So silky.

There is a soft expression in his lover's eyes. "I am well-rested. I presume you also slept well."

"Fabulously." He grins. "Though, you need a bigger couch for next time. This is far too short for our legs."

"Indeed." Spock raises a brow and Jim cannot resist the urge to reach for the slanted length with his lips. He loves Spock's eyebrows too.

He looks down at their bodies. "Also, I think we're kinda stuck together," he says sheepishly. "All this combined gunk is no good for pubic hair, you know. I think you got a little in your chest hair too." He teases a few curls of hair for proof, watches Spock's eyes darken. "More than a little, in fact."

"How unfortunate," the half-Vulcan stares at him deadpan.

"Yeah." Jim stares into his eyes. "Seems like we'll have to wash it out real thoroughly."

Spock inclines his head as he sits up. "It does appear to be the only solution."

"Hmm." Jim looks at him happily. "C'mon. Let's hit the showers. It's a good thing we share a bathroom."

"Indeed."

* * *

Bones shows up at his quarters later that evening as he is going through the latest reports from Fleet intelligence.

He looks at Jim closely. "You look better today."

Jim smiles at him, as he gets a coffee for Bones and a glass of juice for himself from the food processor. "Yeah, I'm fabulous."

Bones is looking at him strangely. "Really?"

"Yep."

"Do you know where's Spock hiding?" Bones asks him. "No one's seen him since last evening. I ran into the Healer this morning and he was being completely tight-lipped about what was going on with him."

"Spock's doing just fine," Jim replies cheerfully. "In fact, I have it on great authority that he too is doing fabulously well."

At this point, the door to the bathroom he shares with the First Officer's quarters opens and Spock walks inside. They have been using this access between their quarters all day, preferring the privacy it provides for the time being. Spock pauses to see McCoy in Jim's quarters and the doctor looks just as baffled at his appearance.

"What the hell is going on?" he snaps at Spock.

Spock gives him a look and then walks into the room. "Doctor," he nods at him.

"Hey," Jim greets him as walks to him and then holding Spock's face in his hands, gives him a firm, thorough kiss on the mouth.

"What the hell!" he hears Bones say from behind him.

Spock looks into his eyes. "Hello," he says warmly.

"Jesus fucking Christ," Bones swears.

Jim turns to face his friend, his face serious, but his eyes are twinkling. Bones looks shocked at the spectacle he and Spock must present, but he has to make the point. He wraps his arms around Spock's waist. "Yeah, well. Remember that bond that was accidently formed?" He squeezes Spock close to him. "Let's just say, we...finally solemnized it."

"Sonofabitch," Bones mutters, then a scowl forms on his face. "After everything he made you go through, this is how you resolve it?"

Jim looks at him firmly. "This was the only way, Bones. If you had any other suggestions, you should've given them before."

Bones looks at him incredulously. "What are you talking about? The Healer was here. You could've asked him to dissol-"

Jim cuts him off sharply. "Don't even fucking go there. That is not an option!"

"Right." Bones scowls at him distastefully. Then he turns to Spock. "And _you_... Hiding the link all this time. Do you have any idea how painful it was for Jim? How close he came to losing his mind?"

Jim frowns, "Bones, that's _enough_."

But Spock's voice is dead serious when he looks at McCoy. "You are absolutely correct, Doctor." Jim feels a flare of _hurt, pain, regret_ reach through the bond and grips Spock's hand tightly. "I acted highly irrationally and made a gross judgmental error, thus causing damage that could have been avoided if I had been forthright from the beginning. I caused pain which was needless, pointless, _unwarranted_." He turns his face to look at Jim, his eyes soft, sparkling with warmth that makes Jim's breath hitch. He says in the softest tone, "I will endeavor to make sure I never do anything in my life that causes pain to my bondmate ever again."

_Bondmate_. Jim feels his senses infused with a _longing_ and _love_ and _warmth_ that almost hurts. "Spock," he whispers and his lover looks deeply into his eyes, his eyes warm, his mouth parted.

Whatever Bones sees on their faces makes him pause. "See that you don't," he grumbles, then continues, "But what about the stability of the bond? Jim went nearly mad when you were captured. Is this going to happen all the time now, every time either of you are hurt?"

Spock turns to face him again. "Unlikely. While the link was strong from its inception, while it remained unsolemnized, it was unstable, resulting in the physical pain Jim experienced when I was hurt," he explains. "In a stable bond, the mental controls are much stronger and such an imbalance is not likely to occur. Now that our bond has been solemnized, our connection is finally secure and our emotional stability should not be in question."

Bones looks at him dubiously. "This can be verified?"

"Affirmative," Spock replies. "The Healer has already checked the integrity of the link and should be able to confirm this to you."

"Can you get off our backs now?" Jim looks at the doctor. "I need your support on this, Bones."

But McCoy's face is serious. "I will only support this if it doesn't hinder with your duties, Jim, and you know that."

"It won't," Jim replies. "It's a good thing, Bones." He feels Spock's hand squeeze his own and turns his face to press a kiss into his neck. "Trust me."

"It better be." Bones looks at them critically. "I don't ever want to go through all that shit again."

"You won't."

Then McCoy scowls again. "And for God's sake, spare me this saccharine sweet display of affection." He makes a dirty face. "I'll need brain bleach after seeing you two kissing."

Jim chuckles aloud as he twines his fingers with Spock's, and feels their answering grip. "I'll send you a whole canister."

"Fuck you."

* * *

If they thought talking to McCoy was hard, they have no illusions left when they file their report to Starfleet.

But the bond is stable, is finally secure. All this is confirmed by the Vulcan Healer Sonok who is fortunately on hand to verify the integrity of their mental shields and the strength of the now stabilized bond that exists between them. The Healer also wastes little time in reporting the existence of the verified bond between Spock, son of Sarek and James T. Kirk, Captain of the USS Enterprise to the Vulcan authorities.

Spock explains to Jim what this means. As per Vulcan custom, they are as good as a wedded couple. And since Vulcan marriages are officially recognized under Federation law, there's nothing Admiral Pike can do except reprimand them off the record, if he feels the inclination.

The fact that it was the bond that directed Jim towards the actual location of his First Officer when he was missing helps their case. If the bond hadn't existed, no one could speculate how much longer it would have taken them to figure out they had been led astray. And by that time, Spock could have been moved from the planet or taken to a location where it was even more difficult to find him. Or worse, they could have been too late; he could've been killed. And Starfleet would never have captured the aliens who were actually behind the psionic device.

Pike looks at them with a strange, considering look on his face and sighs. He tells them to avoid throwing such curveballs his way in the future, he has it tough fighting for their case as it is. They're the youngest command team in the history of Starfleet, they're commanding the Federation flagship, for God's sake. He needs them working like a well-oiled machine, with no hitches, no problems.

But that is exactly how they have always worked. Kirk and Spock. In complete sync with each other. Moving together, walking in step, always knowing what the other wants, always in tune with each other. And their new status ensures that it will continue thus. With no hitches and no problems.

The bond will make sure of that.

* * *

That afternoon, they are having lunch in the commissary, the first time they have been out together since Spock's rescue, when Nyota walks in.

Jim looks at her as she freezes at the door, her eyes on them both, and then he looks at Spock, a soft expression on his face, as Spock feels a surge of compassion and understanding flow through the bond, his bondmate's eyes kind and sympathetic.

They both know it cannot be avoided. Jim picks up his tray, and takes it to the counter to deposit it, and then he nods at Nyota as he passes her, and walks out of the commissary.

Spock watches as Nyota fills up a tray and takes it to a free table across the room and sits down. He gets up from his table and slowly approaches her. She looks up at him as he arrives at her side.

"Nyota," he greets her.

"Spock." She nods.

He asks, "May I join you?"

She looks at him thoughtfully for a second and then gestures to the chair opposite her. "Of course."

He sits down and watches as she sips from her tea, her eyes on him. He decides the time for hedging has passed; it is best to come right to the point. He holds her gaze. "Nyota, I was not completely forthright with you," he begins. "I did not tell you the whole truth when I terminated our relationship. And by doing so, I have undoubtedly caused you pain, and shattered any confidence you may have had in me as a friend." He swallows heavily. "I do not know if there can ever be a way to make amends for what I did. I do not ask for forgiveness, for I am not sure I deserve it. But I request that you try to understand that I did not intentionally set out to hurt you."

Her eyes are considerate as she looks at him. "Spock, why did you keep the bond a secret?"

He looks down at the table, at his hands, then up at her face, his face solemn. "I erroneously believed he would have rejected it, were it offered in any other circumstances. I did not believe he would have accepted it."

She stares at him. "You didn't think he wanted you."

"I did not," he replies.

"But he does," she states.

He looks into her eyes. "Yes."

"And you want him." Her tone is contemplative, no reproach apparent in her voice.

Spock inclines his head. "He..." he swallows. "...fills a need in me that I had lost hope for ever being filled."

"You two are compatible." Nyota looks at him closely. "More than you and I ever could've been."

Spock presses his lips together. "Nyota..."

She stops him. "I'm a grown woman, Spock. I can see when something works and when it doesn't. You and I weren't working." Her eyes are introspective. "You weren't happy."

Spock feels his throat constrict at this. "Nyota, I have the highest regard for you. You have been my best friend for almost three years. I cherish our interactions, our times spent together, our friendship. You have understood me in ways many others did not." He feels his brows come together. "You did not deserve this deceit from me, you deserved to know the truth."

"That is correct, I did deserve the truth," Nyota says, her voice firm. "We were friends first and foremost, Spock. I never wanted to lose that no matter what happened." She stares at him. "So promise me, Spock. You will never lie to me again. No matter how difficult the situation, no matter how uncomfortable it feels." She looks directly into his eyes. "You will tell me the truth."

"I endeavor to never make that mistake again," Spock promises.

Nyota is silent for a moment, and then she looks at him. "The bonding... it happened by accident." She searches his eyes. "You did not set out to cheat on me."

"No," he replies. "I would never do that, Nyota."

"You hadn't been with him before that." She says and then she sees something on his face and her eyes widen. "You have now, though, haven't you?"

Spock feels his face get warm suddenly. "Our bond... has been consummated."

Nyota's mouth falls open. "My God, Spock, are you..." She stares at him incredulously. "...are you blushing?"

Spock straightens up imperceptibly, his face going blank. "Indeed, I am not."

"Yes, you are." Nyota shakes her head, her eyes suddenly warm. "Oh my God, you're... you really make it hard to stay mad at you, do you know that?"

Spock has nothing to say to this. She continues after a moment, a rueful look on her face. "You know... if this had happened six months ago, I would have gone after Kirk and told him not to ever hurt you." Spock feels his chest tighten. "But now... I've seen how he is around you, Spock. And I have one thing to say to you: take care of him." His eyes widen. "Don't ever hurt him."

Spock closes his eyes for a second, his heart pounding in his side, as a rush of gratitude fills his mind, and then he opens them again to look at her. "Nyota ..."

"It is okay, Spock. I know I need some time to get my mind wrapped around all of this" There is a soft, sad smile on her face. "But I'll be all right."

And he knows she will be. She is the strongest woman alive he knows. Her courage and maturity and intelligence are what made their friendship such a vital part of his life. He knows no matter what happens, she has the ability to bounce back from any hurdle.

Nyota Uhura will be all right.

* * *

Jim can see his bishop is in the right position. In exactly five moves, he can see it having a go at Spock's queen.

He would've thought that having a telepathic link would make things like guessing his bondmate's next chess move almost a given. But even with the bond open, Spock has no problem shielding specific thoughts from him when the need arises, and Jim realizes it's only fair. There is such a thing as privacy, after all.

The latest report from Starfleet Intelligence on the _Kalahan_ conspiracy unearths even more startling facts. It appears the _Yintis_ were once persecuted by a race called the _Krolians_, who were the biological ancestors of the _Kalahans_, who destroyed the _Yintis'_ homeworld for a rare ore that was used as a life-saving fuel by the _Krolians_. So the _Yintis_ spent the next hundred years waiting, regrouping, and finally regaining their technological advantage, and then retaliated by the best means they had at their disposal. Their telepathic capabilities. They spent the next two hundred years targeting the descendants of the race that had destroyed them, and thus began a cycle that hasn't ended to this day.

Jim realizes that xenophobia is something that will never completely be eradicated. Fear of something that is different, doubting those who are unlike you, the inability to accept new things. He knows the Federation was formed on the basis of peaceful exploration, that is the reason why he joined Starfleet, to seek out new life and new civilizations. But there is still life out there that is not ready to accept the diversity of the universe.

"Your mind is straying."

Jim looks up to stare at Spock in surprise, and a slow smile breaks on his face. "Why, Mr. Spock, that is usually my line."

Spock raises his brow. "It fits the occasion."

They are in Spock's quarters tonight. The lights are kept at 70 percent, and yet the illumination from the panel in the ceiling falls at a sharp angle on Spock's face, making his high cheekbones appear ever more prominent, rendering his lips fuller, somehow softer.

Jim leans back in his chair and stares at him. "Watch out. I've got this game all figured out."

Spock's eyes twinkle. "Indeed?"

There is something in his voice that goes straight to his groin, and suddenly Jim has only one thing on mind. He pulls his chair back and gets up. Spock watches him as he takes the two steps around the table that separates them and stands between Spock's legs. Jim leans down to hold his face between his hands, and touches his lips to Spock's.

"I thought we were playing chess," Spock murmurs.

Jim nudges Spock's knees apart and lowers himself into his lap. "Oh, we are."

Spock tilts his head up to catch his lips. "I see that this is a new form of the game."

Jim lets his fingers caress Spock's cheeks as he stares into deep brown eyes. "Yeah, it's called body chess."

"I am unaware of the rules of this version." Spock rubs his hands leisurely over his back and Jim sighs. "Would you enlighten me?"

Jim leans in and kisses him firmly. "Oh, you'll catch on, you've always been a quick study."

"Have I?"

"Yes, it's all very simple." He sucks a kiss into Spock's upper lip. "I make a move." His tongue traces the seam of Spock's lips, watches them open to fit over his bottom lip. "Then you make one." Their tongues tangle together. "I try to guess how you'll proceed." Their tastes mingle together to form an intoxicating mix. "You try to... capture my king."

Spock's hands tighten around his body, his face flushed. "What happens if I succeed?"

"Oh you won't." Jim sinks his fingers in Spock's hair, rubs them over his scalp. "I've got you surrounded." He pulls his legs up and wraps them around Spock. "From all sides."

Spock's warm breath washes over his face. "I see you have me in your control."

"Yes..." Jim tilts Spock's face back and kisses him thoroughly, sweetly. "...you can't run away."

Spock's hands hold him close, his eyes dark. "I guess then I should do the logical thing, and surrender."

"Yes, surrender," He murmurs as he kisses Spock. "You must surrender."

But Spock has stopped speaking and is kissing him back. His lips are warm against his. His eyes are closed. Jim knows he doesn't need to keep his eyes open to see him. He can see through the bond.

He closes his eyes and reaches for the bond. He feels the crackle of energy that pulses between them.

And he sees.

**The End**


End file.
